#famous art pieces easy

[runraerun]

Chapter 4 of Easy as 123 is LIVE! 📺

And look! More wonderful art from @racketti <3 He really understood the assignment (commission) and brought Mr. H to life! 🥹♥️ I’m so obsessed. Thank you again, my friend!!

[weaselle]

i want to talk about real life villains

Not someone who mugs you, or kills someone while driving drunk, those are just criminals. I mean VILLAINS.

Not like trump or musk, who are... cartoonishly evil. And not sexy villains, not grandiose villains, not even satisfyingly two dimensional villains it is easy to hate unconditionally. The real villains.

I had a client who was a retired executive for one of the big oil companies, i think it was Shell or Chevron. Had a home just outside of San Francisco that was wall to wall floor to ceiling full of expensive art. Literally. I once accidentally knocked a painting off the wall because it was hanging at knee height at the corner of the stairs, and it had a little brass plaque on it, and i looked up the name of the artist and it was Monet's apprentice and son-in-law, who was apparently also a famous painter. He had an original Andy Warhol, which should have been a prize piece for anyone to showcase -- it was hanging in the bathroom. I swear to god this guy was using a Chihuly (famous glass sculptor) as a fruit bowl. And he was like, "idk my wife was the one who liked art"

I was intrigued by this guy, because in the circles i run this dude is The Enemy. right? Wealthy oil executive? But as my client, he was... like a sweet grandpa. A poor widower, a nice old man, anyone who knew him would have called him a sweetheart. He had a slightly bewildered air, a sort of gentle bumbling nature.

And the fact that he was both of these things, a Sweet Little Old Man and The Enemy, at the same time, seemed important and fascinating to me.

He reminded me of some antagonist from fiction, but i couldn't put my finger on who. And when i did it all made sense.

John Hammond.

probably one of the most realistic bad guys ever written.

If you've only ever seen the movie, this will need some explaining.

Michael Crichton wrote Jurassic Park in 1990, and i read it shortly thereafter. In the movie, the dinosaurs are the antagonists, which imo erases 50% of the point of the story.

book spoilers below.

In the book, John Hammond is the villain but it takes the reader like half the book to figure that out. Just like my client, John is a sweet old man who wants lovely things for people. He's a very sympathetic character. But as the book progresses, you start to see something about him.

He has an idea, and he's sure it's a good one. When someone else dies in pursuit of his dream, he doesn't think anything of it. When other people turn out to care about that, he brings in experts to evaluate the safety of his idea, and when they quickly tell him his idea is dangerous and needs to be put on hold, he ignores his own experts that he himself hired, because they are telling him that he is wrong, and he is sure he is right.

In his mind, he's a visionary, and nobody understands his vision. He is surrounded by naysayers. Several things have proven too difficult to do the best and safest way, so he has cut corners and taken shortcuts so he can keep moving forward with his plans, but he's sure it's fine. He refuses to hear any word of caution, because he believes he is being cautious enough, and he knows best, even though he has no background in any of the sciences or professions involved. He sends his own grandchildren out into a life-threatening situation because he is willfully ignorant of the danger he is creating.

THIS is like the real villains of the world. He doesn't want anyone to die. Far from it, he only wants good things for people! He's a sweet old man who loves his grandchildren. But he has money and power and refuses to hear that what he is doing is dangerous for everyone, even his own family.

I think he's possibly one of the most important villains ever written in popular fiction.

In the book, he is killed by a pack of the smallest, cutest, "least dangerous" dinosaurs, because a big part of why we read fiction is to see the villains face thematic justice. But like a cigarette CEO dying of lung cancer, his death does not stop his creation from spreading out into the world to continue to endanger everyone else.

I think it is really important to see and understand this kind of villainy in fiction, so you can recognize it in real life.

Sweetheart of a grandfather. Wanted the best for everyone. Right up until what was best for everyone inconvenienced the pursuit of his own interests.

And my client was like that too. His wife had died, and his dog was now the love of his life, and she was this little old dog with silky hair in a hair cut that left long wispy bits on her lower legs. Certain plant materials were easily entangled in this hair and impossible to get out without pulling her hair which clearly hurt her. When i suggested he ask his groomer to trim her lower leg hair short to avoid this, he refused, saying he really liked her usual hair cut.

I emphasized that she was in pain after every walk due to the plant debris getting caught in her leg hair, and a simple trim could put an end to her daily painful removal of it, and he just frowned like i'd recommended he take a bath in pig shit and said "But she'll be ugly" and refused to talk about it anymore.

Sweet old man though. Everyone loved him.

[writingsfrombeyondthegrave]

An Accidental Haunting

Astrid Deetz x Ghost!Reader

Summary- After your daily stroll through the cemetery to pass the time, you overhear a conversation between Astrid and her mother. Fearing that she would do something terrible to herself, you follow her home and make sure to keep her safe.

Warnings- Reader was m*urdered, specifics about readers death and markings, Su*cide mentions, mentions of death and the afterlife.

Your afterlife had been relatively uneventful since your death. It had been 12 years since you died, and you had a pretty good routine down now. After you check on your parents you would go to the cemetery and talk to the wandering spirits there. Often times you were a comfortable distraction to their sorrows.

Currently there was a funeral going on and you pretended to blend into the background, hiding behind the group of living people. Your outfit stuck out more than you'd like. An old AC/DC shirt and green flannel overtop of black ripped jeans. Thinking back, you should've dressed nicer for your final moments alive.

The funeral in question was for a "Charles Deetz", which you had heard of before, having been a part of the family that lived in the famous Ghost House. He had been eaten alive by a shark, which seemed pretty gnarly. You were only partially listening to his widowed wife Deelia droning on about how much she couldn't live without him. By the end of the speech, she was pulled aside and talked about how she couldn't wait to form an art piece around her suffering. Thats when you decided you had heard enough and began to roam around the cemetery again.

Astrid sat far away from the group after the funeral had dispersed. Her head was tilted towards the dirt, and she had a deep scowl on her lips. Clearly this man had meant a lot to her and her family, so naturally you felt bad and walked a bit closer.

Lydia came over to comfort her daughter and sat beside her. She looked over at Astrid in silence before speaking up quietly. "Death is hard"

Astrid responded emotionlessly, not making eye contact with the woman beside her. "Yeah, sometimes I think life is harder"

Your eyes widened and you took a step back, shocked by her response. It's not that you didn't agree with her to some extent, it was just different hearing it from someone else. After a moment of the world moving without you, you finally snapped out of it to see them both walking back home and quickly followed.

Their house was crowded with people, all talking to each other with frowns. Mourning had always been an odd concept for you to understand. It was even odd during your own funeral. Comforting people was easy enough because they all wanted to hear the same things. "You'll be alright, this sadness will pass", "They're in a better place now, it's good that they're not in pain anymore". It was all a routine you used to comfort people both in life and death.

Being a psychic yourself, you felt as if it was your responsibility to help people both living and deceased, even after you had died. Now was your mission to help Astrid. She was a stranger, yes, but you just couldn't help yourself for some reason.

Astrid sat at one of the tables away from the crowd, mindlessly twirling a tassel on the end of the tablecloth. She clearly didn't want to hear the routine speeches you had on the tip of your tongue, so you stood away and just simply watched to make sure she was alright.

A frown graced your lips as time ticked by seemingly without change before she finally made her way into the kitchen. There was luckily no one hanging around in there when Astrid eyed the knife on the countertop. After a deep breath, she reached out to grab it. This certainly wasn't how you expected her to end her life, especially since there was a crowd outside.

Without thinking you leaped forward and swatted the knife out of her hand. It imbedded itself into the plaster and you smirked, proud of your work.

She stared at it with wide eyes before groaning, clearly more annoyed than spooked. Her day was already hard enough and now she was imagining things. Prying the knife out of the wall proved futile and she closed her eyes, plopping down in the chair with defeat. All she wanted right not was to make a simple meal, but the world seemed to be against her.

A short laugh echoed through the room and her head shot up, searching for the source of it. Was she hearing things now too?

Days had passed with your attempts to save her life.

Astrid grabbed a rope to hang the skeleton for Halloween and it kept falling from the rafter 'mysteriously'.

Another time, she went to the attic to grab a box of heavy photo albums, piled up so high that she couldn't see past them. You graciously knocked the top ones off so she could see better. Yet another inconvenience and strange occurrence in this house, but Astrid continued to ignore it and just picked up the books after she had placed the box on the floor.

One time the gas on the stove kept turning off whenever she would turn away to grab an ingredient.

Eventually she had had enough of the house, her mother getting remarried, the death of her grandfather. She felt stifled and had to get away, so she went to the only place that felt normal to her anymore. She had a date with Jeremy that night anyway.

You watched her leave with a groan, tossing your hands in the air to no avail as she still couldn't see you. "Him, really? He's a murderer!" you cupped your hands around your mouth to yell, only gaining the attention of an elderly deceased lady walking by the end of the street. you laughed awkwardly and returned to the house. Thankfully you couldn't show embarrassment with no blood rushing through your veins.

You had decided not to follow her on her date, not wanting to be seen as some sort of stalker. Sadly, you soon regretted that as time ticked by. It felt like years as you waited in the house for her to return. The nicknacks on her desk kept you entertained for the time being, but you were quickly getting bored again as you walked to her bookshelf.

Halloween used to be your favorite holiday. Yet looking outside now and watching the trick or treaters smile and live their lives made you grow more depressed than you'd like to admit.

You could go out there, but you had a mission to save Astrids life and you needed to be here when she returned. You could never forgive yourself if she died.

If you were alive, your feet would have ached with how much pacing you were doing. The book you had taken from the shelf was about morbid and unsolved deaths throughout the United States, which did pique your interest at least.

The door to her bedroom swung open and Astrid stood in the doorway wearing her Marie Curie dress which was absolutely covered in dirt and decay. You couldn't help but smile at seeing her alive still, while her eyes widened comically and raked over your entire figure meticulously. Your smile soon dropped as you finally noticed the state she was in.

"I could've told you he was bad news" You shrugged your shoulders, trying to ease the awkwardness with conversation. The silence between you two loomed on for minutes before your smile returned. "So, you can see me now, huh?"

All the response she provided was a small nod, barely moving. You looked down to see your shirt, having momentarily forgotten the state you were always in. There were several stab marks in your stomach with blood covering the lower half of your shirt where it was torn. Quickly covering yourself with your flannel, you tried to turn away. "It's not a pretty sight, I know. But by now you know it's not exactly a Halloween costume" You joked, wanting her to say anything at this point to ease your ever-growing anxiety.

Astrid walked further into her room and shut the door behind her. She sat on her bed and her dress billowed out around her, kicking dust up around her. You laughed, not being able to help it. "I'm guessing you've been to the afterlife? I must say, you're the prettiest corpse I've seen in years" Her eyes lit up, just barely at your comment and she cracked a small smile at that, patting the spot beside her for you to sit.

You obliged but kept your distance, afraid to scare her more after the clearly traumatic experience she had.

Moments went by in comfortable silence before she spoke. "Why... did you get killed?" The words were soft and barely audible, but you picked up on it from a mile away, turning to look at her.

"People fear what they do not understand" You replied simply.

"Isn't that from To Kill a Mockingjay?" She smiled widely, having gotten over her anxiousness a bit more now.

You laughed. "Actually, I was quoting Batman Begins, it was one of my favorite movies as a child." A beat passed before a smirk grew on your lips. "But let's go with your idea, it makes me seem deeper and more mysterious"

You both laughed together, smiling brightly at the other.

Part 2

A/N: This was partially written when I was sleep deprived at 2am, so if there are a lot of mistakes I apologize. Not sure if this was platonic or romantic so you guys get to choose that. I also kept the reader GN but if you'd specifically like a female or male reader, specify when requesting please!

Please like/comment/repost and let me know what you think! Constructive criticism is always encouraged and appreciated. If I left out any important trigger warnings let me know and ill add them.

Credits:

Graveyard and Ghosts Dividers- @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Header- Me

[drowning-rabbit]

fuck it, i love you

spencer reid x celebrity!reader

chapter one: i like to see everything in neon

word count: 1.6k

plot summary

chapter summary: the calm before the storm - you meet spencer reid at an art gallery and he makes you question your view on life in less than twenty minutes.

Pretending is easy. At least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself the majority of adulthood. At 25, you had been cruising through milestones in a convertible, with the top down and the wind blowing. Making it as a public figure never seemed attainable until it was in front of your eyes. Poor kids don’t get famous, and your situation was inopportune at best. Childhood wasn’t easy, but lo and behold: here was a thriving career in your mid-20s, launched by a recurring role in a dramatic romance series.

Except it wasn’t all that easy. The series wasn’t perfect, and it required a lot more intense scenes than you had hoped. But it had kickstarted your fame, and Michael said it was too early to leave. You had worked relentlessly to get here with no one close to your side. Parker was nice, and had been a great friend since college. He was always busy curating, though. Pinky was… there. Mags had been around constantly but was a bit clingy, and Michael, your manager, was a delight. That was it. Hollywood was lonely, and you had given up the concept of real friends entirely. Although every single available person threw themselves at your feet, no one had treated you as an equal. There were no friends in business; only colleagues. Most anyone would stab a knife into your back for an opportunity at more money and fame. Some pretended to be nice, while others were outright rude. Pinky was one of the rude ones. Although interesting to be around, she was a narcissist and constantly brought you down. She also had a thing for older men - which was odd considering her preference for dating women.

Parker had asked you to attend his latest exhibit, accompanied by Pinky. She was a featured artist. You arrived before the crowd in order to avoid most of the paparazzi, and now walked with him and Pinky through the exhibit. Cameras were not allowed inside, so you were safe from prying eyes. He explained some of the featured pieces to you, but was quickly distracted by someone he recognized.

“Spencer! Spencer Reid! Dude! Look at you!” He yelled over to two men in corporate clothing. One was older, middle-aged. His hair was greying and his expression was solemn. He looked like he had seen a lifetime of sadness. Pinky would latch on quickly. The other was possibly the most beautiful man currently in the state of California. He had the sweetest brown eyes, slightly overgrown hair, and an apprehensive smile. He looked hesitant, like he didn’t want to see Parker. That must be Spencer Reid. The name bounced around in your head like the DVD-idle screen that played during late nights in your apartment. He stood awkwardly with his hands nestled into his dress pants, his polka dot button up covered by a grey vest and a sleek black tie.

“You look just the same. Look at you, dude. Nothing’s changed. Spencer was the only 12 year old in our graduating class. Just the same.” Parker smiled genuinely at the pretty man. His name hit the corner of your brain’s TV screen and it clicked. Spencer Reid, graduated high school at twelve years old. A man that looked like a modern Adonis but walked with the air of a childhood prodigy. Clearly intelligent, equally awkward. Beautiful. Pretending was easy - you remembered to feign disinterest. After staring at him for a few minutes, you gave up on enjoying peace of mind and walked around the gallery with Pinky. It seemed like everything out of her mouth was contemporary, which explained the nature of her pieces. You pretended to pay attention, but Spencer still lingered in your thoughts until you heard Parker call your name.

“Guys, come on.” He motioned to Spencer and the other man as they approached you. “Spencer, you ever meet a real movie star?” He asked as Spencer eyed you up and down. When he met your gaze, he realized what he was doing and quickly looked away. You kept your eyes on him.

“Movie star? Please, she's got one role on a television series about weird kinky romance. Totally blue collar,” Pinky added from beside you. You chuckled a bit and introduced yourself, refusing to let eye contact break when Spencer looked back at you.

“Hi, I'm... I'm doctor Spencer... Reid. I'm Spencer. You don't have to... call me doctor.” He stuttered through his introduction and squinted like he offended himself.

“I won't.. Spencer.” You grinned widely to convince him to lighten up a little. You were interrupted by several flashes of a camera, so Parker excused himself.

“Hey you! I told you! No photos in the gallery! All right? Out!” You sighed deeply before reaching out to grab a glass of champagne off of a tray. Paparazzi always got in the way of everything. It was hard to say acting was worth it when privacy was never an option. Sure, you loved your job, but at what cost? When was it all enough? Pretending is easy, so you pretended not to care.

“So... you're not from around here, are you?” You asked Spencer, giving him another award-winning smile. He wasn’t used to it all, and despite the awkward facade, he was shockingly easy to talk to. His hesitance to be in the limelight gave you a sense of camaraderie. It was fun to be the center of attention, but easier to blend in to the crowd. Talking to him made you feel normal, like you could have a real friend.

“Me? No.” He shook his head firmly. “No, I'm... We're running a training service about profiling for the Los Angeles police department.”

“Profiling?” You questioned. So much for a friend. He was a narc.

“Yeah, I'm with the behavioral analysis unit of the FBI. We psychoanalyze crime scenes in order to gain a better understanding of the criminal’s thought process,” He explained, crossing his arms over his chest. Oh, so maybe not as bad. He wasn’t any harm to you, anyway. It couldn’t hurt to entertain the possibility of connection. Pretending was easy, lying to yourself was a different story. And you couldn’t possibly lie about your attraction towards this man. You wondered if he could tell.

“Psychoanalyze, huh?” You watched his eyes as they averted your gaze, his cheeks still an endearing shade of pink. You wanted to see him turn red.

“Are you doing that to me right now?” You giggled as you watched his color turn. Bingo.

“What? no! I'm not psychoanalyzing you. I'm just…” He was so pretty.

“I'm kidding.” You said gently, unable to stop yourself from making sure he was comfortable. “Do you mind if I?” You reached out a hand and waited for him to take it.

He paused for an uncomfortably long period of time, staring at your well-manicured hand extended out towards his. He blinked once, twice, three times, as if trying to convince himself of something. He swallowed and closed his eyes, and you watched the trail of his Adam’s apple. When you looked up, he shook his head before opening his eyes and lacing his fingers through yours. You led him to one of the paintings on the wall while trying to hold his hand as gently as possibly. Physical contact seemed to be difficult for him, and it made you giddy that he was willing to trust you blindly. After a moment, you spoke again.

“Does it make you feel anything?” you gestured towards the painting in front of you. It was mostly dark, but splotches of neon light painted the canvas in an endearing way. It reminded you of Hollywood. When the lights were so bright, it was easy to forget the darkness lingering behind the scenes.

“Like what?” He tilted his head in curiosity, and you melted.

“I can't tell you how to feel. I can tell you I like to see everything in neon, and the lime green reminds me of partying. Fame is hard, but it’s easy to deal with. You just have to let go and live a little” You squeezed his hand a little, and he looked down before you heard a reply.

“Right now, I feel pretty good.” He squeezed your hand back. “You know, there’s other ways to cope. Maybe I can..”

“We're leaving.”

Spencer abruptly let go of you as the man from earlier tapped his back. He seemed to flinch as he realized what he was doing by touching you.

“We're still looking at the exhibit,” He protested, wiping the hand that held yours onto his pants. Was he trying to get rid of your germs? He could be a germaphobe, since you knew nothing about him. In fact, it was kind of odd to be holding the hand of someone you met twenty minutes ago. Then again, it was also odd for an FBI profiler and a television actress to meet in the middle of an art gallery. And it was odd that meeting this unusual man had been the most interesting event in your life in a long time.

“Now. Now, now.” The older man was in an urgent rush. He had left with Pinky earlier, which meant she was up to her antics again.

“Yeah, I guess we're leaving, so...” He looked you up and down, but made no move to leave.

“Reid, now.” At this, he started away from you. Fucking Pinky.

“Nice to meet you, Spencer Reid.”

“Bye!” He turned and smiled back at you, waving quickly. You only hoped you would see him again. Pretending was easy, so you pretended it didn’t matter.

[vexwerewolf]

Showrooms of LANCER Manufacturers

IPS-N

IPS-N showrooms are what you'd get if you slammed a truck dealership, a hardware store, a camping gear shop and a sports bar together in the Bass Pro Shops Pyramid. We're talking row upon row of shelves stocked with the most precision-engineered engine parts you can print on one side of the floor, and on the other, durable, hard-wearing survival gear. Camping stoves you can run off of your mech's coldcore, sleeping bags that'll survive a HEX charge, automatic camo cloth, the works.

Right down the middle, you've got the mech floor. They've got the Tortuga. They've got the Blackbeard. They've got the Drake. They've got the Lancaster and the Kidd. They've got the Vlad (they put a chain-link fence covered in DO NOT TOUCH signs around that one after the infamous CFO's 10-year-old Incident). They've even got the Raleigh, kinda tucked away a little bit behind the water feature, but it's there!

Everything on the shop floor is ruggedized to the point that you could take a mech's fist to it without leaving a dent - and they sometimes do that to demonstrate the engineering quality. There's a giant screen hanging from the ceiling displaying constant advertising for the mechs and IPS-N in general, usually striding purposefully through idyllic Diasporan wilderness or doing hard, honest work like starship loading or construction. There's a mixtape of the most famous bro-country hits playing 24/7.

Smith-Shimano Corpro

In a word: bespoke. Everything in this place is custom. Each and every desk is individually built according to the height of the salesperson who sits behind it, and manages to be a unique art piece without disrupting the overarching aesthetic of the showroom. Whenever there's a change of staff on the sales floor, they rearrange every single desk so that they're still in ascending order.

All of the salespeople are inhumanly pretty, by the way. This atelier has its own fully-staffed makeup and wardrobe team. You're part of a work of art when you work for SSC. Everything and everyone gleams. Even the most chic visitors might feel underdressed in the midst of all this splendour.

The mechs aren't just there to be sold, they're there to be part of the experience. You might see a Monarch holding up the ceiling like the titan Atlas himself. A Mourning Cloak might be posed provocatively like a nude statue. That Swallowtail - is it in a slightly different position every time you see it, or is that just its camouflage decals? How does it always manage to be just inside your line of sight, even when you're looking somewhere else?

They have a catwalk, like you'd see at a fashion show, but it's sized for mechs. If they really think you might make a purchase, they'll queue up the entire performance for you, and you'll get to see a Viceroy strut.

The mix tape for this showroom is a seamless mixture of complex jazz, psychedelic ambient and classical piano music. It's sophisticated and mysterious.

Harrison Armory

Imagine if America could be a showroom. Harrison Armory mech outlets are part dealership, part museum. Every mech is in its own diorama, depicting some heroic event in the Armory's glorious history. A phalanx of Sherman Mk. Is holds the line against some Diasporan slaver-tyrant's army. A Saladin fends off Karrakin hordes during the Interest War. The Genghis Mk. II? Oh, that diorama isn't open right now, it had to be closed for *coughcoughcough* and *coughcoughcough* but let's move on shall we heh heh

Everyone who works here has been in the Colonial Legion at some point, and knows every specification of the mechs they sell off by heart without even looking at their slate. If possible, the Armory tries to employ people who have actual combat experience with the mechs they're selling; people who can speak to the efficacy of their technology first-hand. It's one of the many programs which the Armory has open for retired veterans; it's easy work for decent pay, good benefits and it looks great on your Social.

The music here is a constant loop of patriotic Armory anthems. If you've ever heard the music from Starship Troopers, or the Outbreak of War from Star Ocean, you'll know what I'm talking about.

HORUS

Being a decentralized omninet collective with no official branding or even consistent manufacturing standards, it should come as no surprise that HORUS has no showrooms.

ERR:CONNECTION_INTERRUPT

CartesianWhisper: P55555t CartesianWhisper: Ignore that 5hithead CartesianWhisper: They don't have any idea what they're talking about CartesianWhisper: You want a mech, kid? CartesianWhisper: And I'm not talking the tra5h the Purv5 try to 5ell you CartesianWhisper: Or that overpriced garbage 55C want5 you to mortgage your genetic5 for CartesianWhisper: Or the macho trucker bull5hit IP5-N i5 trying to hawk CartesianWhisper: I'm talking about the REAL DEAL CartesianWhisper: The PROPER 5TUFF CartesianWhisper: Log on to rgx0582.node-7.c4l.omni CartesianWhisper: I'll 5how you what true power mean5 >:]

[alcrego]

You need to know this: When you use an iconic piece of art/famous face/pop culture image in your work, the 90% of the 'applause' is NOT for your work, it's for THEIR image. Sorry...🙏 Don't use nostalgia, that's easy. Try to be the nostalgia of the future.

[feyhunter78]

Sidewalk Kisses

Art cred: mia_bobrhia

“No, so then we get to the next chapter, the one we were supposed to read before class, right? And this dumbass goes wait, who’s Ophelia again? We’re literally reading Hamlet; the book cover is that super famous painting of Ophelia, and he doesn’t even know who she is.” You rant, waving your hands wildly in frustration, recounting the drama from your last class as you and Miguel take the back way to your next classes. You’re walking down the cracked sidewalk, the large looming trees above, birds singing in their branches, it’s quiet, no one else is around.

Miguel hums in halfhearted acknowledgment, and you look over at him, slowing your pace.

“Sorry, I know I’m being dramatic, but it just pisses me off.” You say, and Miguel can see you curling in on yourself.

“Don’t apologize, I’m just enjoying listening.” He says, trying to blink himself out of the trace your beauty has put him in. “And looking at you.”

You look so pretty, your hair tied up, a few strands falling perfectly, framing your face, the sun on your skin, the flowers blooming on the trees and bushes behind you.

You give him a shy smile, looking up at him through your mascara adorned lashes. “You’re so sweet.”

It’s his turn to be shy, and he ducks his head. “It’s easy to be sweet to you, you deserve it.”

You smack his arm playfully, full on beaming at him now. “Shut up, I adore you.”

I love you. The words sit on the tip of his tongue, poised, ready for action, but he chokes them down. “Now who’s being too sweet?”

You giggle, and it’s like music, like bells, like everything he’s ever wanted to hear. He loves to hear you laugh.

Miguel wants to kiss you, but he knows once he starts, he won’t be able to stop, and you both have classes to get to.

“Yeah, yeah, but anyways, so Dr. Wrinkler is like young man she is the very reason we’re reading this book. And dumbass just says I thought we were reading Hamlet because of Hamlet. Literally starts arguing with the professor! And I’m just sitting there dumbfounded, but also happy because I didn’t actually read the chapter before class, so I don’t mind him wasting class time.” You admit, giving Miguel an impish smile.

“My girlfriend, the ever-diligent student, is secretly a rule breaker, who would’ve known?” He jokes, glancing over at you when you stop dead in your tracks. “What’s wrong?”

You smile and go up on your toes, pressing your lips against his cheek. “I just don’t think I’ve ever heard you call me your girlfriend before; I like it.”

His cheeks warm and he ducks his head. “I…I like it too.”

You coo at him and smother his face with quick kisses, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down to your height, angling your lips against his in a way that feels both romantic and wildly inappropriate. His head spins and he can’t stop a whimper from escaping when your nails graze against the nape of his neck, and your tongue traces the seam of his lips.

You smile against him, tangling your hands in his hair, manicured nails massaging his scalp, his glasses digging into the bridge of his nose a bit. He doesn’t care, you could devour him, break him into tiny pieces, melt him down, mold him into something new, whatever you want as long as you keep kissing him.

His hands go to your waist, pulling you closer, instinct taking over as he explores every inch of your mouth, the tip of his tongue running across yours, his grip tightening when he feels your breathing speed up.

You break away, breathing harshly, leaning into him like your knees are weak. “You’re um—you’re really good at that.”

“Only with you, mi dulce.” He says, and it’s not a lie, it’s the truest thing he knows. He likes kissing you, it comes naturally, everything he does you like and vice versa, there’s no wrong moves with you. “You inspire greatness in me.”

“Who knew you had such a silver tongue?” You tease, looking up at him with your pupils blown wide, your hands trailing lower, caressing his broad back.

Maybe he could convince you to skip class?

“If you would let me, I could show you more of it.” The words are honeyed, far smoother than he thought they would be, and Miguel holds his breath as he waits for your response.

Your breath catches in your throat and blink at him, stunned, flustered, lips parted in shock, or maybe anticipation? It’s an intoxicating expression, one that fuels him, fills him with courage.

“Déjame mostrarte cómo me has inspirado, mi musa, déjame arrodillarme ante ti, pintarte, tocarte, adorarte.” He whispers, drunk on your reaction, on the feeling of all your attention focused solely on him. Trsl: Let me show you how you have inspired me, my muse, let me kneel before you, paint you, touch you, worship you.

“Oh…” You breathe out, as you tilt your head subconsciously, your eyes flickering down to his lips.

He doesn’t need any other instruction, and he closes the distance, humming at the way you melt into him. He could do this forever, just you and him in the quiet of the day, sheltered by the shadow of the trees.

A sharp wolf whistle breaks you two apart.

“Damn, y/n, is that Honor Council approved?” Kelsy, one of your sisters’ calls, making you turn on your heel.

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me, Ms. Honor Council Chairman?” You call back, rolling your eyes playfully.

“It’s not, but we’re going to be late for class, so I’ll excuse it.” Kelsy says, linking her arm with yours and pulling you towards the direction of your class, casting a sympathetic look over her shoulder towards Miguel. “Sorry lover boy, gotta steal your girl, good grades and all that.”

He just nods, feeling back in that daze from before. It’s only the sight of you blowing him a kiss that breaks the trance, and he forces himself to head to his own class, the feeling of your lips on his still lingering.

I KNOW THIS ONE IS SHORT BUT I'M TRAINING THE NEW GIRL AT WORK SO I'VE HAD ZERO TIME TO WRITE + EDIT, SO THIS IS ALL I'VE GOT TILL SHE CAN STAND ON HER OWN SO SORRYYYY

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows, @36namey, @scoobysnakz, @ihateuguys, @idkbros-world @smartyren, @deputy-videogamer, @blackrose8425, @amberpanda99, @marshhbs, @queerponcho

[maddyjones2]

On not idolising creative people

In the wake of the various recent allegations involving Neil Gaiman, people have been both very sad that someone who they looked up to as an inspiration has, allegedly, turned out to be something less than entirely admirable, and are now looking to see who is now left that they can rotate into the spot of “the good dude,” i.e., that one successful creative guy who they think or at least hope isn’t hiding a cellar full of awful actions. One name I see brought up is mine, in ways ranging from “Well, at least we still have Scalzi,” to “Oh, God, please don’t let Scalzi be a fucking creep too.” Which, uhhhh, yeah? Thanks?

I have many thoughts about this and I’m going to try to make sense of them here, as much for myself as anyone else, so this may be messy and discursive and long (seriously, 3600 words, y’all), but, well, welcome to me. So, ordered by how these things come out of my head:

1. Stop Idolizing Creative People. Creative people are easy to idolize because they create the art you love, and that gives you permission to feel things, and to see yourself and your desires reflected in that art. That is a powerful thing, and from the outside, it can feel like magic, and that the people who do it are tapped into something otherworldly and admirable. Plus, they often get to have cool lives and get to know other cool creative people. They do things that are removed from the day-to-day aspect of a “normal” life, and they’ll even post about them on social media where you can see them. Sometimes, independent of their art directly, they’ll speak about their life, or life in general, and they’ll seem wise and considered and kind. I mean, what’s not to like?

But please consider that this is all an extremely mediated experience of this person. The art is the edited and massaged result of hours and days and weeks and months of work, into which the work of many others is also added. My novels originate from me, but it’s not just me in there, nor is the final form of the novel an accurate statement of who I am as a person, not least of all for the simple reason that I am not trying to tell my story in my novels. I’m creating fictional characters, and the world in which they make sense, for the purpose of the story.

Despite how it might look from the outside, this is not sorcery. It’s years of experience at a craft. It’s not magic, just work. A completed novel (or any other piece of art) won’t tell you much about the specific, day-to-day life and inclinations of the individual who made it, other than a general nod toward their competence, and the competence of their collaborators. Likewise what you see of their lives, even from the illusorily close vantage of social media, is deeply mediated. Lives always look admirable at a distance, when you can only see the lofty peaks and not the rubble at the base — especially when your attention by design is pointed at those lofty peaks. There’s much you don’t see and that you’re not meant to see. The vast majority of what you’re not meant to see isn’t nefarious. It’s just not your business.

Now, before I was a professional creative person, I was an entertainment journalist who spent years interviewing writers, directors, movie stars, musicians, authors and other creative folks. Since I’ve been on the other side of the rope, I’ve likewise met a huge range of creative people from all walks of life. Please believe me when I assure you that creative people are just people. Richer and/or more famous? Sometimes (less often than you might think, though). Prettier and/or more charismatic? Especially if they’re actors or pop stars, often yes! But at the end of the day they are just folks, and they run the whole range of how people are. By and large, the day-to-day experience of getting through their life is the same as yours. Outside of their own specific field of work, they don’t know any more about life, have no more facility for dealing with the world, and have just as few clues about what’s going on in their own head, as anyone else.

They’re just people. Whose work is making the stuff you like! And that’s great, but that’s not a substantive basis for idolizing them. It makes no more sense to idolize them than to idolize a baker who makes cookies you like, or the guy who comes and trims your hedges the way you want them to be trimmed, or the plumber who fixes your clogged drain. You can appreciate what they do, and even admire they skill they have. But holding them up as a life model might be a bit much. Which is the point! If you’re not willing to idolize a plumber, then you shouldn’t idolize a creative person.

(“But a plumber doesn’t make me feel like a creative person does,” you say, to which I say, are you sure about that? Because I will tell you what, when my sump pump stopped working and the plumber got in there, replaced the pump and started draining out my basement which had an inch of standing water in it, that man was the focus of all my emotions and was my goddamned hero that day. My plumber that day did more for me than easily 90% of the great art I’ve ever experienced.)

Enjoy the art creative people do. Enjoy the experience of them in the mediated version of them you get online and elsewhere, if such is your joy. But remember that the art is from the artist, not the artist themselves, and the version of their life you see is usually just the version they choose to show. There is so much you don’t see, and so much you’re not meant to see. At the end of the day, you don’t have all the information about who they are that you would need to make them your idol, or someone you might choose to, in some significant way, pattern some fraction of your life on. And anyway creative people aren’t any better at life than anyone else.

Which brings up the next point:

2. Fuck idols anyway! People are complicated and contradictory and you don’t know everything about them! You don’t know everything even about your parents or siblings or best friends or your partner! People are hypocrites and liars and fail to live up to their own standards for themselves, much less yours! Your version of them in your head will always be different than the version that actually exists in the world! Because you’re not them! Stop pretending people won’t be fuck ups! They will! Always!

This sounds more pessimistic about humans than perhaps it should be. When I say, for example, that people are hypocrites and liars, I don’t mean that people take every single opportunity to be hypocrites and liars. Most people are decent in the moment. But none of us — not one! — has always lived up to our own standard of behavior, and all of us have had the moment where, when confronted with a situation that would become an immense pain in the ass if we stuck to our guns, or demanded the inconvenient truth, decided to just bail instead, because the situation wasn’t worth the drama, or we had somewhere else to be, or whatever. We all choose battles and we all make the call in the moment, and sometimes the call is, fuck this, I’m out.

Every person you’ve ever admired has fucked up, sometimes really badly. Everyone you’ve ever looked up to has secrets, and it’s possible some of those secrets would materially change how you think about them, not always for the better. Everyone you’ve ever known has things about them you don’t know, many of which aren’t even secrets, they’re just things you don’t engage with in your day-to-day experience of them. Nevertheless it’s possible if you were aware of them, it would change how you feel about them, for better or for worse. And now let’s flip that around! You have things about you that even your best friends don’t know, and might be surprised to learn! You have secrets you don’t wish to share with the class! You have fucked up, and lied, and have been a hypocrite too!

You are, in short, a human, as is everyone you know and every one you will know (pets and gregarious wild animals excepted). And all humans are, charitably, a mess. This doesn’t mean there aren’t good people or even exemplary people out there, since there are, along with the ones that are, charitably, a real shit show. What I am saying is that even the good or exemplary people out there are a mess, have been morally compromised at some point in their lives, and have not lived up to their own standards for themselves, independent of anyone else’s standard for them.

One of the aspects of being an “idol,” I think, is that higher standard that other people expect of you — that in every situation where the aspect they idolize you for is in play, you will act in a manner that is right and correct by their standard, which of course you will likely not know about because you don’t actually know them (or often know that they exist). This is, by definition, an impossible standard to be held to — you didn’t agree to it, or to engage with it — and an impossible standard to hold other people to without their direct consultation. Every human made to be an idol is destined to fail at the job. You don’t even have to have feet of clay! You just didn’t know you were on a pedestal to begin with.

(This does not excuse shitty action. The fact people should not be idols in the first place is not exculpatory for the choices one makes on one’s own. If you’re sexually assaulting people, or being a racist or sexist or homophobe or other flavor of bigot, or using your situational power coercively (as just a few examples), then hell yes you are going to be called out on it. And to be clear, it is not unreasonable, to put it mildly, to expect people not to sexually assault other people, or not to denigrate other humans for being who they are, etc. But this only adds to the point about idols, now, doesn’t it. You don’t know what you don’t see, and you don’t know what you’re not seeing, until it is hauled out into the light one way or the other. If it is hauled out into the light at all.)

I don’t think anyone should idolize anyone, ever. It’s not great for them, and it’s not great for you, they probably didn’t ask to be idolized (and if they did, holy shit, fucking run), and in the end unless you’re so completely wrapped up in their lives that they have no secrets from you — which is never — you don’t know enough to make that call. People do it anyway, and then disappointment happens, but they shouldn’t have done it in the first place. Stop idolizing people. It’s not fair for anyone.

What to do instead? Enjoy their work, if they’re a creative person. Appreciate the kind and good aspects of their life that you can see, and the decent actions they undertake in public, with the knowledge that what you see of them is a mediated and elided version. Understand that we all have a different version of ourself for every person we meet, and that every person we meet has a different vision of ourselves in their head, and very often, those two versions are not the same. Like them, based on what you know of them! Love them, if it comes to that. And when and if you learn something new about them that you didn’t know before, let empathy guide you to a new understanding of them and what they mean to you.

And now, taking all of the above into consideration:

3. Absolutely 100% do not idolize me. I don’t deserve to be idolized because no one deserves to be idolized, but also, holy fuck, I do know me and I’m a mess. There have been lots of things in my life that I’ve done that have not been admirable or kind. I can be petty and shitty and competitive and cruel. I am lazy and inattentive and when I let things slide (which is often), I end up jammed up on my responsibilities, which makes me irritable and no fun to be around. I have a temper which goes from zero to sixty almost instantaneously; if I’m not actively paying attention to it, I can become a sudden, unreasonable rage monster, which is a burden to people I love, and I hate that fact about myself (pro tip: don’t travel with me, the rage monster comes out a lot then).

I can be controlling and demanding but I want other people to handle the details, i.e., executive asshole. I am strategic in a way that can be bloodless. When I’m insecure I brag a lot, which is unflattering. If you cross me, I won’t go out of my way to make your life miserable (that would require effort on my part), but I will absolutely enjoy when you take a literal or metaphorical tumble down the stairs. God knows I’ve enjoyed the failures of the people who have spoken ill of me, almost as much as I’ve enjoyed the fuming, spittling rage they’ve felt when I’ve succeeded. I spent years cultivating a snarky persona online and while that was fun (for me), I’m increasingly aware that when the tally is added up for Who Ruined the Internet, I’m not necessarily going to be where I want to be on that particular ledger.

And these are only the bad qualities of mine I wish to admit to you at the moment. There are others, I assure you.

So, yes: Who wants to idolize me now?

“But you seemed so nice when I chatted with you online/met you at the convention/saw you at that one place that one time.” Well, thank you, I’ve been in the public eye in one manner or another for three and a half decades now and I understand my assignment; my public persona is friendly and engaging and sociable and mostly fun to be with. It’s not a fake version of me — I am all those things! Honest! — but, again, it’s a mediated version of me designed not only to be a positive experience for the people who meet me but also to get my actually introverted ass through a whole day of events at a convention/festival/book tour/whatever. When I’m done I collapse into an introverted hole. When I came back from Worldcon this week, I slept for 15 hours the first day I was home. It wasn’t just because of jet lag or con crud.

I rather famously call my public face “performance monkey mode,” and likewise what I say about my (current) online mode is that I’m cosplaying as a better version of myself, one that is kinder than I used to be online, and more patient than I am in the real world. If you meet me when I am “off” then you will find that, again, these versions of me are me, just with some things dialed up and other things dialed down. But even that is still a different version of me than, say, the version of me which is at home (which is in fact extremely boring; that version of me doesn’t talk much and mostly stays in my office).

Many of you who have followed me over the years are familiar with me saying things like this, of course, and are likewise familiar with me pointing out that there are a number of things about my life that I don’t mention in public, for whatever reasons I choose. But it’s also true that I’ve been actively online for 30+ years now, and people feel reasonably confident that they have a good bead on me and that there’s not much about me that will surprise them or change their understanding of me. So to bring home the point there are indeed things you don’t know, allow me to surface just one previously unaired fun fact:

I have a concealed carry license.

(Or did; it expired this year and I didn’t renew it, because Ohio changed its laws so that you no longer need a permit to conceal carry in the state. These days in Ohio you can just wander about with a handgun stuffed down your trousers without training or licensing because that’s a real good idea, now, isn’t it. Nevertheless, the license is not necessary anymore so there was not much point in renewing it, although if the law had not changed, I probably would have renewed.)

Why did I have a concealed carry license? Well, ultimately that’s not important. The point is I had one. I didn’t talk about it before because, among other things, the point of a concealed carry license (to me, anyway) is that its existence is not meant to be known by anyone other than that great state of Ohio itself. I am aware, and this is a dramatic understatement, that I am not a person most people would expect to have had such a thing. That the fact I had one will cause a number of people to reconsider what they know about me, for better or for worse. Which is also my point. All y’all have just learned this thing about me! Think about all the other things you don’t know!

Oh, God, this is where Scalzi starts admitting to terrible, terrible things. No. I feel pretty confident I live a tolerably ethical life. Part of the reason for this is that I have what I think is a decent operating principle, which is: If I’m thinking of doing something, and Krissy called me right then and asked “what are you doing?” and I would be tempted to lie to her about it, then I don’t do that thing. Because Krissy is the most important person in my life, and I don’t want to lie to her about what I’m doing (I have lied to her exactly once. She knew instantly. I haven’t bothered lying to her since). This is not replacing Krissy’s ethics with my own; it’s me knowing whether by my own ethics, I would be ashamed to tell to her what I am up to. It works very well. As such, the Krissy Test is an operating principle I highly suggest to others, although I’d suggest replacing Krissy with whomever your life is most important to you.

Be that as it may, my ethics are not universal and some others might not find them sufficient, for whatever reason. I am well aware I still disappoint many people, and that there are people who find my life choices, known positions or public statements (or lack of them, as the case may be) problematic, or who simply wish I would be other than what I am. I can’t help them with this, but again, this is the point. Given the fact that I am a fallible human who has an entire stratum of his life not visible to the world — and the strata of his life that are visible cause significant numbers of people to be irritated and exasperated — is it not better just to not hold me up as an ideal person, or the “good dude,” much less an idol of any sort?

I mean, shit. What Would John Scalzi Do? Solidly half the time, I have no fucking idea. I have to think about it, whatever it is. I have to think about whether I know enough to do or say something about it. I have to decide whether it’s something I want to engage with at all, and whether my engagement with it is something that would be of value to anyone, me included. I have to decide whether engaging with it is worth the shit I will get for it. And then I have to figure out what it means that I am engaging with it, since like it or not I’m a Dude of Reasonable Significance in My Field. I try to be a decent human, when people are looking at me and especially when they are not. But I also know me, and all my flaws and weaknesses and compromises.

What Would John Scalzi Do? The best he can, in the moment. Is that sufficient? For me, yes, most of the time. Is that sufficient for you? That’s up to you.

The point to this all is that people are just a big fucking mess, including the ones you might for whatever reason find admirable. I am no different than anyone else, and you should not be under the illusion that I am anything other than a shambling collection of flaws embedded inside a human form, which also, in its defense, has some pretty excellent qualities as well. We’re all this way! You too!

And while I want you to like my work, and to enjoy the version of me that you see here and elsewhere, don’t put me, or any other person, on a pedestal. Pedestals are wobbly and and don’t give actual humans a lot of room to move. We will inevitably fall off. Keep us with our feet on the ground. That way, when we stumble, there’s a chance we can get back up, and keep going.

— JS

[tkomptgoedluv]

watermelon.

icantbelieveiletyougetaway pt.3

pt1. here | pt.2 here | pt.3

joost klein x f! reader

tags: f! reader, non-famous! reader, reader still really needs to see a therapist, established friendship, angst angst and even more angst, did i mention angst?, tooth-rotting fluff, so fluffy it’s honestly a little cringe <3, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 3,493.

warnings: very brief + vague reference to SA, rpf.

notes: hello!! welcome to pt.3 <3 this is probably the part that i’m most proud of, probably because it weirdly hurt the most to write. a couple fun facts about this part: reader’s coat is heavily based on one i have in real life and absolutely adore. also, i genuinely couldn’t bring myself to touch this wip for two whole days because my personal life started to match up with this storyline and i did not like it! became a little too self-indulgent. anyways — enjoy!! lemme know what you think.

love you all lots 💋

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

in a lot of ways, the whole situation was more or less your own idea of hell — ironic, considering it all started with literally the worst night of your life.

not once did you ever think that you’d be here, that this was how things were gonna go. the fun part? you don’t even know how you got here in the first place. for someone so in the middle of it all, you know surprisingly little about what actually happened, or what you must’ve done wrong.

all you know is that it’s different now. joost is different now.

you still text everyday, a few phone calls here and there, and you’ll see him in person a few times a month or more, but you can still feel it. the subtle lack of emotion in his messages, the only-ever increasing wait times in between responses, the missing details in his stories that you’d still end up hearing from your friends. something, at some point, shifted and joost just didn’t seem to be your joost anymore.

at first, you tried to think nothing of it. you weren’t exactly a stranger to anxiety; it’s always been just a little too easy for you to get lost inside your own head. this also wasn’t the first time that you had fallen down this rabbit hole, suddenly convinced that someone you love doesn’t even like you because they said something in a slightly different tone once.

but then those weird few days where things didn’t feel quite right turned into weeks, and it just didn’t feel like nothing anymore.

you thought it could’ve been the videos because, as predicted, entire montages of the fight found their way onto each and every little corner of the internet. joost could be seen clear as day swinging for him, landing punch after punch until one of his friends would eventually step in. though somehow, the backlash against joost never came. for every clip there was a ‘story-time’ to go right along with it, and every single one explained how joost was just defending ‘this girl that had been attacked by that guy.’

so instead you exhausted yourself asking if everything was alright, just in case there was something else going on that he also hadn’t told you. but there was only so many times that you could ask the same question over and over again, only to get the same answer back.

joost was fine; great even.

so it had to be you. nothing was wrong, nothing bad had happened, it was simply just you that had repelled him all of a sudden. and that was all you could think about whilst you sat in a room surrounded by your closest friends — joost included.

it was someone’s birthday, a friend of a friend who’s name was still unknown to you and yet somehow you still ended up with an invite. aspon was on your left, deep in a conversation with stuntje about some new anime you’d never heard of, and alanis was on your right, asking to see pictures of daan’s latest art piece.

you, of course, were there in between them all, just staring into space. all of the ice in your drink had melted as it sat forgotten about in your hands, and you were fairly confident that you had memorised each and every scratch in the wooden flooring. you were yet to find a better place to look other than the floor, because of course it was joost that had to be sat opposite you.

he had pulled the short straw really, because by the time he came back in from his cigarette outside, the only seat left was one of those awful, plastic fold-up chairs. like the others he too was wrapped up in a conversation of his own, only his included a girl that you’d never seen before, and he was making her laugh a lot.

you didn’t have a single right to absolutely despise what it was that you were seeing, but still your skin felt hot and itchy, and tears burned behind your eyes. despite arriving together in your group and being seated a measly three feet away from each other, joost was yet to even glance in your direction, let alone talk to you. the blatant avoidance was unbearable; the new ‘you’ that he was talking to was even worse.

but with the anger came the shame, because really, you had no excuse to be feeling like this. two strangers with mutual friends, talking with one another at a house party of all places, wasn’t exactly incriminating. they also weren’t touching or even flirting for that matter — from what you could hear, their conversation seemed limited to small anecdotes about the people in common they both knew.

you weren’t being fair, you weren’t being reasonable; there was no excuse for the tightness in your chest.

without a word, you got up and made a dash for the balcony; desperate for a cigarette. so desperate in fact, that you didn’t stop to grab your jacket despite the rain bashing against the windows. you just needed the fresh air, needed space away from whatever the fuck was going on in there.

the small roof that the balcony upstairs provided did little to shield you from the rain. your hair quickly fell damp around the sides of your face as the wind brought goosebumps to your arms. you really should’ve stopped to grab your coat, you were soaking now.

but the pure, unbridled relief that you felt when you breathed in the smoke of your cig made it all worth it, though. it was something else to focus on, something to help soothe all of your aches and pains. best of all, it gave you a reason to be by yourself for a while — a moment alone to think, to breathe, a chance to get a fucking grip.

you took another drag of your cigarette.

“think you forgot this, schatje.”

over the sound of the heavy-falling rain and the music from inside, you hadn’t heard the balcony door slide open and shut again.

from the corner of your eye you saw joost standing there, clad in a black gilet and the same adidas track-jacket that you had bought for him two birthdays ago. your coat was in his outstretched hands; a big, red furry thing that almost swallowed you whole every time you put it on.

“yeah…thanks.”

you wanted to cry.

the silence that followed was heavy and awkward; neither of you could even look at each other as you took your jacket from him and slipped it on. whilst you focused on looking outwards towards the skyline, blinking away any tears that threatened to spill, joost busied himself with lighting up a cigarette of his own. it felt like you were standing next to a stranger, and not someone who quite literally knew every single little thing about you.

someone who always picked up the phone when you called; someone whose bed you’ve woken up naked in just a few too many times to count.

“you, uh, you doing okay?”

you almost choked on your cigarette.

he’d barely even glanced your way all night, too distracted by other female attention to really care that you were there at all, and now he wanted to know how you were doing? oh he had to be joking.

you stubbed out your cig underneath your shoe and went to storm back inside, shoving past him with your shoulder as you did so. you had almost made it too, before he caught you by the arm and gently pulled you back. it really pissed you off how hurt he looked, like this wasn’t all his fault in the first place.

“hey, can we not just talk for a minute? i wanna know what’s been up with you recently. we don’t really talk anymore.”

as hard as you could you pushed him off of you, and then you pushed him once more for good measure. you couldn’t bite it back anymore, couldn’t keep it all from spilling out when your blood was already boiling. if you were to regret it in the morning, you would just blame it on the few drinks you’ve already had.

“and why the fuck do you think that is, joost? tell me.”

a small part of you that you really couldn’t quite understand, genuinely hoped that he would push you back. that he’d get all up in your face, yelling at the top of his lungs, just as angry with you as you were with him. you wanted him to shout, to scream at you about how wrong you were; you wanted to feel crazy for even thinking that something could ever go wrong between the two of you.

you didn’t want him to just…stand there with his tail tucked between his legs, looking like he had already given up on you a long time ago. you found yourself shoving him again, only hard enough to knock him back a step or two this time.

“tell me!”

now more than ever you wished that you could stay angry, that you knew how to hold onto the outrage instead of always just breaking down into pieces. it made you feel so small the way that your voice was cracking; your shouts quickly shrinking into cries. you felt like a child again, begging to understand why everyone always left in the end.

“i just needed to work some stuff out, okay? none of this was meant to happen. i never wanted to make you cry.”

you pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, the state of your mascara becoming an afterthought, before raking your fingers through your hair. thin strands stuck to the corners of your face and the back of your neck.

“please, tell me what i can do to make it better.”

joost was panicking now, looking a lot like an old dog that somehow knew it was about to be left behind at the shelter. you could see it in the way his hands were shaking and how he couldn’t quite seem to stand still, shifting from one leg to another.

“you can tell me what happened; what changed or what i did wrong. i don’t care.”

from the look on his face, you never would have guessed that all you’d asked him for was the truth; ‘panicked’ was no longer the right word.

“i can’t. i promise, i’ll tell you later but i can’t tell you here. not like this.”

you laughed — you couldn’t help it. three months ago, when you asked him why he was so insistent on doing anything and everything for you, he gave you the exact same line. either he forgot that he’s already used it once before, or he thought you were stupid enough to fall for it all over again; either way, you knew now that ‘later’ was never coming.

before you really knew what you were doing, you were back inside and weaving your way through the small huddles of your friends. a few stared as you began to tread water through the house, a long line of watery footprints following behind you on your way out. you muttered a quiet ‘i’ll see you guys later’ to whoever was listening and in one smooth motion, grabbed your bag from one of the tables and disappeared through the front door, slamming it behind you.

no one tried to stop you. probably for good reason, too, because you could feel the makeup running down your face.

the only good thing to come from looking so sad and drenched from the rain was that nobody on the street stopped to bother you either. not many people were out in this weather anyway, so at most you felt their eyes on you as they passed, a look of pity on their faces. pity for a girl all dressed up for a nice night out, just to be walking home early in tears.

you didn’t want their pity, you just wanted to go home. you wanted your bed and your pyjamas. you wanted a nice warm shower and to try and forget that today ever fucking happened.

you didn’t want joost to be chasing after you.

you didn’t want to hear your name being yelled from down the street by the one person you didn’t want to see right now.

“cmon you always do this! stop running away from everything.”

that was the thing to get you; the one thing that made you stop and turn on the spot.

“oh i’m the one running away? you’re the one that left!”

you met him halfway with steam coming out of your ears, your hands trembling and nose all scrunched up. you were fuming and it seemed as though he was now, too.

“i never went anywhere! you’re making it sound like i disappeared off the face of the earth or something.”

“well that’s what it felt like! what about that don’t you understand?”

you were each taking turns yelling now, oblivious to how loud you were actually being. people were sticking their heads out of their living room windows, morbidly curious about the scene that was unfolding right outside their homes. those that walked by did double-takes and even contemplated getting their phones out to record.

“but i’m here now! and i was ‘here’ back there and you just ran away like you always do!”

“did you really expect me to just stand there and listen to you lie again? all this ‘oh i’ll tell you later’ crap, it’s just bullshit. ever since that night you’ve been different and if what that guy did to me changed how you see me then maybe you’re right, maybe we should stop being whatever the fuck we are.”

joost physically recoiled at your words, his entire demeanour changing to one of hurt.

“what are you..? schatje no, no, it’s nothing like that. fuck, please tell me you don’t really think that.”

how could you not? it was the only thing left for you to think. it wasn’t like you wanted to come to that conclusion or that it was the first one you jumped to, but joost never gave you any other choice. as much as it hurt, it was better than simply not knowing.

something died in him when you nodded — you saw it in his eyes. tears of his own spilled down his cheeks as he rubbed his hands up and down his face, wiping his nose with the inside of his elbow.

“i…i would never; that guy…that wasn’t your fault.”

“then tell me the truth, joost.”

all that adrenaline, all that energy from before was long gone. you weren’t two people arguing in the rain, full of love and anger like something straight out of a romcom anymore. you were just two people standing out in the cold, soaked to the bone, just trying to hold on for a little while longer.

you were still waiting for joost to say something, trying to prepare yourself for the worst. if he was to say that same shit again, that he couldn’t tell you now but would later on, that would be it for you. you’d walk away and not turn back again, not for anything; just like that it would be game over.

but joost wasn’t saying anything, and you couldn’t decide if that was any better or not. he was silent as he took a couple steps towards you, the palms of his hands suddenly cupping either side of your jaw. the pads of his thumbs wiped away all the tears and rain from your eyes and tucked the odd strands of hair behind your ears. not once did he glance away from your gaze, not once did he say something.

it was driving you crazy.

“joost?” you were pleading with him now, desperate for him to say something — do something. the way he was looking at you, it was like you were the only thing he could see. “say something.”

“i love you.”

you blinked, and all of sudden you weren’t quite sure what to do with your hands anymore. it wasn’t the first time joost had said that to you because he says it to everyone, every single one of his friends. but he had never said it to you like that before, with a look in his eyes so heavy you feared that they might fall right out of his head.

“what?” your voice cracked as you spoke. “i don’t understand…what?”

“i love you. that’s what changed.”

a headache was coming, you could feel it. right behind your eyes, you felt a twinge, and then a subtle thumping that made your eyebrows twitch. you just couldn’t wrap your head around it, and the more you tried to make sense of it the more your head hurt.

“i swear to god if this is a fucking joke, if you’re just making this up -”

he shut you up with a kiss.

it wasn’t exactly for the first time or even close to being so, but it felt as though it could’ve been; all soft, gentle, careful. the hands that held either side of your face did so as though you could’ve cracked and shattered at any second. he moved slowly, almost hesitantly, until he felt you turn into mush beneath him. only then did he pull away, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.

but you couldn’t let him have it though, could you? couldn’t just let him have the upper hand, just like that. you had to chase it, had to pull him down to your height by the collar of his jacket until your lips could meet his. by the time you were finished, both shaking and breathless, there were faint smudges of red all across his mouth.

“that was so hot; do it again.”

you laughed at his words for not the first time tonight, but now it was only out of pure joy instead of anything else. you laughed because of how out of it joost looked now, his eyes glossed over and lips parted ever so slightly as he panted. you laughed because of how much you did want to do it again and how you felt giddy knowing that joost wanted you to do it again too.

so you did. only this time joost was ready and pounced on you hard enough to knock you back a couple of steps, almost making you slip on the wet pavement. his fingers lost themselves in your hair, gently tugging at the roots as yours gripped onto the nylon of his jacket for dear life, too afraid to let go and risk letting him slip away.

you would have stayed like that with him all night if it wasn’t for the wolf whistle you heard from one of the windows above, followed by the rumble of thunder. the rain was starting to fall harder now, the storm only growing and you didn’t like knowing that people were watching you now.

“we shouldn’t be doing this here — people are looking.”

with his forehead resting against yours, joost simply groaned as he struggled to catch his breath. his hands still cradled the back of your head and his eyes were still squeezed shut.

“don’t care. need you.”

he may as well have been one of the puddles at your feet, the way he couldn’t even form proper sentences anymore. the things you were doing to him right now were criminal, almost cruel, and you were loving every minute of it. proud of it, actually. you might have been mush in his hands, but he was like putty in yours.

“well…maybe you should take me home then, yeah? then you can need me as much as you like.”

joost groaned again, muttering something about how you were ‘going to be the death of him’, and leaned back in. from your nose to your cheeks, to your chin, every inch was peppered with very sweet, very wet kisses.

“have i told you much i love you yet?”

he had, at least a handful of times by now, but not nearly enough as you would’ve liked. so you shrugged, a shit-eating grin plastered across your face as you did so, and stepped back, lacing your fingers with his.

“it’s okay, you can tell me one more time.”

apparently that was way too far for you to go, because after one singular step you were tugged back again and kissed as though joost’s very life depended on it. ironic, considering you were certain that you were both about to be struck by lightning at any moment.

“i love you.”

you figured if that were to happen by some chance, it’d be worth it if it meant staying here with him for just a little while longer.

“i love you too.”

[kiwi-r0s3]

Where to buy gyaru clothes ?

Hello !! (๑>◡<๑) Here is my first blog on where to buy Gyaru clothes ! Even tho its important to repeat that gyaru clothes DON'T exist ! The most important part is to learn how to style basic clothes to make them look gyaru in your outfit ! I still tried to find some brands for you but since gyaru brands don't really exist anymore you still need to find a way to style these item in a gyaru way !

NB : Im a girl who never shop online ( i mostly wear some of my familly members old clothes , or irl shops ) SO PLEASE be careful of where you shop, verify if the website is safe. If any of the shop I put here is weird pls tell me so I can remove it ! Thank you <333 I'd also really like to put if the brand are plus size friendly so if anyone want to check and tell me that'd be super nice <33. Taobao shops has really really cheap prices and is really afrodable !

Taobao brands :

NO ROMANCE

Open Aesthetic

Serendipity

Onnasenshi

ArtByTastyBabe

HBreaker

BornThisWay

喵酱的水晶城堡

初代魔女

草莓点点

Desire 南方包馆

辣妹也很sweet

墨迹的手作小店

妃美优品

水蜜桃队长

Pupil Fat

These are some brands that ive found while searching, there is also this masterlist of gyaru taobao shops who is well more detailed than my post with the links of the shop ! I I didn't include some shops on the picture below because It was too hard to finds pic of the clothes but you can go check on tiktok many pretty famous gyaru tiktok have already mentionned them and even did hauls of their clothes !<33

2. Thrift store / 2nd hand shop

Thats not a secret for anyone anymore but these are the best place to shop and find really cool clothes ! "But thrift near me only have disco clothes!" , you will not find an alba coat there girlie thats sure but the art of fashion is learning how to style piece togethere, while looking think of how you could style what u found and you will realize that these place really have good things !

Another really useful place is vinted ! Its a 2nd hand shop online , so here are some keyword to help you find good clothes there :

Brand to search = Mars, D.i.a., Skinny lip, Egoist, DaTuRa, Golds Infinity, Alba 22 Rosa, Rady, Galeo, me Jane / Glamorous Jane, Black Queen, Jesus Diamente, Sugar Gloss, Vanilla Parfait / La Pafait, Vence, Luelu, Cecil mcbee, Anzu, ANAP, Tralala, Duras

Keyword = Flower print / Hibiscus / Hibiscus print / Hibiscus flower / Denim / Vintage / Alternative / Fur boots / Fake fur / Belt / vintage belt / buckle belt / Leg warmer / fur leg warmer / Knitted sweater, knitted cardigan/ Leopard print / Cheetha print / Zebra print / Y2k / 2000s / Coquette / etc...

Tips : try making a pinterest board of cool gyaru outfit and while looking on vinted try to search for the different piece to make the outfit (its sometimes really easy piece like a denim mini shorts , a zebra print top and some white leg warmers. See ? Many gyaru outfit have a really simple bases so finding clothes shouldnt be smt too hard)

3. Gyaru sells on facebook

4. Tokyo Kawaii or Liz Lisa for Hime girlie

5. DYI !!

DYI is the most important things in almost every sub-culture ! There is so many tuto to make basic gyaru piece like the iconic hime heels or the super cute bunny hoodie !

TY THATS ALL OF THE GYARU PART ! The next one will be about Lolita and will also make a Goth one !

[alchemistc]

(dys)functional | bucktommy 1/1

an: the hockey au keeps growing, have some tommy whump in the meantime

read on ao3

"Hey," Tommy says, rolling the word over his tongue, letting the door close behind him and leaning his head back against it as it goes. Evan glances up, and immediately sets the knife in his hands down, expression going concerned the moment he sees the look on Tommy's face.

"Uh wha - what's wrong?"

The concern in his voice is ratcheted up in a way Tommy doesn't quite understand - he knows the look on his face is a little resigned but Evan looks stressed. "I'm gonna have to reschedule our weekend," he tells him, already shifting away from the door, moving in, chasing after the distressed little tilt of Evan's head, completely incapable of not trying to fix it even though his mind is going in about fifty different directions, right now.

Around the corner of the island, into Evan's space, and Evan melts just enough for Tommy to get his hands around Evan's hips. "Is everything okay?"

Tommy grimaces. "Not - not really, no. I've got to catch a flight in about six hours."

Evan goes stiff under his hands. "O-okay."

There's an art to fully grasping his tone, in these moments. He's - not an easy read, exactly, because his default seems to always be doing a terrible job of hiding whatever it is he's feeling, but that doesn't actually mean he's not masking the actual issue. It's confusion, mostly, maybe a little bit of hurt, a quiet sense of foreboding in his expression as he leans back to get a good look at Tommy's face, like he's searching for an answer for a question he doesn't know if he's allowed to ask.

Evan shifts impatiently, stormy expression clearing up. "Can - do you need to -" He makes a face Tommy knows is aimed at himself, a little recrimination for not being able to gather up the proper words in the proper order. He pulls in a deep breath. "Okay, so this is maybe too much to throw at you right now but those are kinda famous last words for me and I'm - will you tell me why so I'm not thinking up worst case scenarios here?"

Tommy slides in, fingers curling into the hem of Evan's shirt, gripping, tugging just enough that they both drift into one another. "It's my father." Brow furrowed, Evan nods, and waits, still rigid in the circle of Tommy's arms. And Tommy really does have to leave, soon, pack an overnight bag and try to get a couple hours of sleep before the slog to John Wayne, but he's a little concerned that leaving right now is going to send Evan into a tailspin. Thank God he'd decided to drive over first, tell him in person - he's missing a heap of context here but clearly a phone call would have been the wrong move. "He's - I have to..."

Evan knows the basics, bare minimum shit because Tommy hates acknowledging how much his father had fucked him up, how many years of therapy have been required to untangle the dad shaped knots in his brain.

"I don't really have all the details, yet, but my uncle called and I - I'm needed, apparently. I don't." Tommy has felt wrong-footed since the moment the name flashed across his phone screen, he doesn't talk to them, to any of them, and now his uncle has given him a vague 'Tom you need to come home, it's your pop' and his sister isn't answering her messages. Tommy takes a breath, realizes his hands have tightened into fists in the seams of Evan's shirt. "What do you mean famous last words?"

Evan is studying him carefully, elbows bowed behind him because he's got his palms curled around Tommy's fists, eyes shifting over Tommy's face, and Tommy knows he's seeing the shit Tommy likes to keep under lock and key. "It - it can wait. Tommy, do you need me to come with you?" Head tilted, gaze assessing, fingers shifting, soothing over the stretched tight skin of Tommy's knuckles.

It's too soon for that. He doesn't want Evan to see that part of him, the piece of the puzzle that Tommy has had to chip at, and shave and sand down to make fit, that ugly little part of his life he'd shed the day he'd set his house key on the dining room table and left for boot camp.

It's not too soon - he doesn't want Evan to ever see that.

He's also suddenly incredibly aware of how nice it would be to finally, finally have someone he knows is in his corner for whatever bullshit he's ten hours away from walking into. His grip loosens and Evan seizes the opportunity, awkwardly lacing his fingers through Tommy's. It's a weird angle, uncomfortable with the current positioning of their arms, but it feels a bit like a lifeline. "I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not. I'm offering."

There's a stubborn part of him that doesn't want to accept. He's kept his life out here so separate; even Sal, who'd kept all his other secrets for going on a decade, barely knows shit about his family. He has a good life, rich and fulfilling. Out here. He's got Evan, who'd do practically anything for his friends, his family. Tommy can't justify subjecting him to whatever garbage the Kinard's have going on three thousand miles across the country.

Evan tugs at his hands, shifting his weight enough to send Tommy stumbling half a step into him. Toe to toe, gazes catching again, because Evan is seeking him out, Tommy feels some of the weight lift off his shoulders.

"Okay."

It gives him the excuse of leaving as soon as possible, once he gets there, at the very least.

Evan nods. Whatever weird tension he'd been carrying ebbs from his shoulders and Tommy puts a pin in that - he's spiraling and upset but for a second Evan had been, too, and he needs to circle back to that when he can think straight.

He's got his phone out, free hand digging into Tommy's front pocket, and Tommy blinks, tries to think of something clever to say, something flirty and wry. They were supposed to go out tonight: dinner, maybe dancing, after, if Tommy could convince him. Then a three day stretch of matching days off - a drive up the coast, a little rental within walking distance of a beach, a seafood place that made a lobster roll almost as good as the ones up in Maine. He'd been contemplating whether or not it was too early to bring up Evan's lease.

Evan fishes Tommy's phone out and presses in his passcode without a second thought, and something eases in Tommy's chest. He trusts Evan. Has trusted him, consistently, unquestioningly - he'd given him his passcode on a whim when the screen went dark on it halfway through Evan adding his food to whatever they'd been in the middle of ordering in before Evan got derailed by a story about the anatomy of seahorses.

"Did you already book a flight?"

Tommy nods. Points out the Southwest icon he'd moved to his home screen for easy access.

He doesn't argue when Evan guides him around the island to one of the stools, there, fight and flight both losing out to freeze as Evan takes charge.

It's not their usual dynamic. Evan has been happy to set the pace, but once he takes his cues from him, Tommy's typically the one taking point. But Tommy feels unmoored, and it's nice, actually, to have Evan press a kiss to his temple, to pull up his flight information, to squeeze Tommy's shoulder as he books a second ticket on the credit card Tommy's really only let him use once or twice, happy to be seeing someone who will actually let him pay more than his fair share, who seems flattered that Tommy's always got his wallet out before Evan even thinks to reach for his.

Everything's a bit jumbled. He's halfway to Jersey already, maybe, pulled into the riptide and dashed against the rocks of Richard Kinard's bullshit, he doesn't even know why he's going, just that his uncle had told him he needed to come. He comes up for air feeling battered and bruised when Evan rubs a hand down his shoulder, over his arm, up again with harder pressure as his palm shifts down and over his spine.

Evan's face hovers close to his. "I'm just gonna call Bobby, and then we can pick up something to eat on the way over to your place." The upside to having something already planned is that Evan's already got a bag packed with everything he'll need to travel.

It sounds so simple, so effortless, and Tommy's throat feels tight when he swallows. He gets two fingers into Evan's belt loop before he can pull away, and Evan comes easily, stepping into the spread of Tommy's legs, forehead coming down the few inches to meet Tommy's. "You - thank you."

"Of course," Evan says, a little wry, an echo of Tommy's own favorite phrase whenever Evan gets a little caught up in the way Tommy keeps showing up for him. He gets it, now. It's been instinct, really, to be there when Evan asked, to try his damnedest to make it to the things he's promised to be there for - nothing particularly remarkable about it, in Tommy's mind, but Tommy's starting to see the larger picture. It's grounding, it's comforting, it is actually a little remarkable to be on the receiving end of it. It feels like devotion.

Tommy rolls his forehead, curls a hand up over Evan's shoulder, his neck, fingers catching in his hair, along the curl of his ear. When he blinks and meets Evan's gaze, there's something in his eyes that Tommy isn't sure either one of them is actually ready for, but then, they haven't really stumbled on their way through those things up to this point anyway. Blazed past them, maybe, but always with an understanding of what they mean while they waved at the mile marker blurring past them.

Evan squeezes at Tommy's knee. "I'm not going anywhere," he assures, and Tommy snorts.

"You're literally going to Jersey in, like, five and a half hours."

Evan huffs. "With you. I'm - you're ruining my moment, Tommy," he pouts, and if the both of them dissolve into a fit of giggles, no one has to know but them.

-----

Tommy hasn't been back here in eight years. It's been longer since he's talked to his family - he'd shown up fifteen minutes into his grandmother's funeral, slipped in to a pew at the back during mass and and skipped the wake before he found a bar and made a few bad decisions with a man who'd sat next to him four drinks in and smiled at him like the sun peeking through a billowing stormcap.

Evan presses a tentative hand to the small of Tommy's back and Tommy melts into it, pleased when the hand shifts to curl around his waist. He's apparently already rented a car, and Tommy can't quite hide the heavy sigh of gratitude at the admission - the getaway will be a lot smoother if they don't have to stand outside waiting for a ride.

He's seen Clipboard Buck in action before. The last time, he'd barely managed to get them somewhere private before he was on his knees to express his appreciation of Clipboard Buck. This is - not better, but different in a good way. It makes him feel tethered, reminds him that as crazy as it had been to accept an invitation to a wedding after a spectacular explosion of a first date, he'd been right to follow that spark he'd first felt on the tarmac while Evan Buckley shook his hand for about thirty seconds too long.

"I can help whoever's next," says a voice as Evan shuffles him along the rental line, and Tommy's gaze darts up, his posture sharpening.

Evelyn.

Christ, it's a day for reunions, Tommy guesses. They're next, actually, and Evan tilts his chin with narrowed eyes when Tommy sighs and moves to the counter.

For a second, Tommy's convinced she doesn't recognize him. She pops the gum in her mouth, bored gaze bouncing between them as Evan scrolls through his email for the confirmation number on his booking, and then her eyes go wide.

"Tom? Tom Kinard?"

Evan's eyes shift up. It's a lot more subtle than Tommy'd expected. So is the hand that squeezes at Tommy's hip in question.

Tommy curls his fingers around the hand, squeezes back. He's spent too many years on the other side of the closet door to go crawling back into the dark now.

"Hi Evie."

Tommy hasn't told this story, but he doubts Evan will be particularly surprised by it. He's heard about plenty of Tommy's other beards.

Her gaze shifts. From her spot behind the counter he doubts she's seeing much, but the anchor of Evan's arm around his waist has them sharing space, Tommy's shoulder pressed to Evan's chest, the two of them breathing the same air. Her brow ticks up behind her glasses. She's got a streak of grey along her temple, and the start of crows feet around her eyes.

Evelyn snaps her gum. "You missed the reunion," she notes, and then smiles. "Although I can't blame you if this is what you've got back at home. A large improvement on Jason Ledecky." She leans in. "He's got five kids and a truly tragic bald spot."

Evan's eyes gleam. Tommy realizes he's actually looking forward to telling this story, in the sanctuary of a rented car on the way to his uncles. Evelyn Carinni had been a godsend for a Tommy who'd shot up four inches and slimmed down over the summer after junior year -- she'd scooped him right up that first day of school when it became clear that a suddenly sharp jawline was all it took to garner the attention of the female population of Cliffside Park High, and the first time she'd whipped out her tits and seen the disinterested look on his face she'd made it her mission to make sure he made it through senior year undetected.

"You here about the will?"

Tommy pauses. "What will?"

Her eyeroll is exactly as disparaging as he remembers. "Christ, your family is a piece of work. According to Tina, who heard it from Daryl, Old Man Gio apparently had an updated will your dad tried to hide. There's been a whole lawsuit about getting it recognized."

"What the hell does that have to do with me?"

"Well, I imagine dear old granddad had a nice little end-of-life realization that the only descendant he had who didn't want any of his money was you, so as a last fuck you to all his ungrateful kids he left it all to you."

"There's no way any of that money hasn't been spent already." Not to mention he has no interest in some long drawn out court case where all his extended family has to admit they have no way to pay it back.

Evelyn hums. "A lot of it's been tied up for years. Plus there's the royalties his estate is still getting."

Tommy sighs. "My uncle made it seem like it was more serious than that."

"Is there anything more serious to them than who gets the lions share of daddy's money?" At Tommy's raised brow, she shakes her head. "Anyway, your pop might be looking at jail time, so there's always a possibility they're looking for preemptive bail money."

If he lets them, he'll tie up Evelyn for hours, standing here gossiping like teenagers. "We should have a reservation," Tommy tells her, before things get really off the rails, and they go through the motions of pulling up Evan's information. Evelyn pops her gum again.

"What a shame," she says, brow raised and eyes focused on Evan. "We promised you we had plenty of inventory in basic economy but it looks like those are all off the lot." Tommy watches Evan frown, eyes darting to the prices detailed behind her. Neither one of them is overly concerned about their savings account, at the moment, but Evan isn't fond of surprise price increases. He'd complained for a week the last time avocados had gone up thirty cents. "Looks like I'll just have to upgrade you free of charge, Mr. Buckley."

The clerk to her left shoots her an exasperated look and leaves it at that, but something happens in Evan's expression, the realization rolling over him that he's been included in some subterfuge. "Oh, well, if you have to," he says, but he's leaning his free arm against the counter now, posture open, happy to be included in this little bubble with someone who has loved and cared for Tommy. He knows the feeling -- knows how he'd had to take a deep breath at Chimney's bachelor party, when Eddie had glanced between them and implied that Evan inviting him to the karaoke bar was a date, remembers the way he'd had to dig his fingers into his thigh in the pocket of his pants to keep from being weird about how nice it was to laugh with Maddie Buckley-Han.

Evelyn chuckles, and smacks her gum, and the keys under her fingers clack away for a moment before she spins in her chair and marches off to grab something from the printer, and Evan hip checks Tommy with just enough force that Tommy sways, maybe a little overcome in the same way Tommy always is when Evan's friends, his family make it clear they like having Tommy around. He grins, and Tommy returns it, the edges of his smile bleeding into his cheeks.

Evelyn returns with contract for a sports car. "I waived the deposit fee," she intones. "For the inconvenience, sir."

Evan looks delighted as he signs off and Evelyn splits their copies. The sticky note affixed to Evan's copy has a phone number with a Jersey area code written on it, and she taps it.

"When you find out you're insanely rich and finally cut off the rest of your family completely, you two should take me out for coffee."

Evan isn't so caught up that he doesn't check in with Tommy first. It's not entirely necessary --he likes Evelyn, and Evan can clearly tell that -- but it's nice, all the same.

"How about a steak dinner," Tommy negotiates, and Evelyn's grin goes wide.

-----

As it turns out, Grandpa Gio was a petty little bastard with a penchant for dramatics, and according to a court of law his aunts and uncles (and father) owe him close to two million dollars, between them.

"I don't want it," Tommy confesses, laid out on the hotel bed that night, still too loose-limbed to move as Evan putters around in the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and brushing his teeth.

Evan looms over him a moment later, warm towel running over the ridges of Tommy's stomach, the rise of his pectorals. Christ, he'd shot off like a goddamn missile. Evan bites his lip to hide a grin when the towel catches on the underside of Tommy's chin.

"I'm assuming you're talking about the money," Evan says, folding the towel over itself to give him one last rubdown. "It seemed like you liked the sex."

Tommy shifts, tugging at Evan's wrist until he settles in beside Tommy. With the remains of his energy, he slings a leg over Evan's and rolls himself into the cradle of Evan's embrace. "That was never a question."

Evan maintains the silence for a grand total of thirty-seven seconds. It's longer than Tommy had expected. "So your family." Tommy hums, already tracing the edges of the tattoo on Evan's forearm. "Kind of dicks."

The snort of laughter settles into Evan's still-sweaty temples, and Tommy shifts to press his nose into the damp curls there. He'd been so hesitant to share this part of himself with Evan, but as always, Evan had forged on ahead like there was nothing in the world he'd rather do than provide the landing spot for Tommy to settle down his gear once the storm passed.

"Took me twenty years and a boatload of therapy to train that out of me. I'm still --." Tommy pauses, the usual self-deprecating comment stuck on the tip of his tongue, because for once, it doesn't feel like an effort to be nothing like them. He'd spent so long hiding in the shadow of the asshole his family had taught him how to be, and dragging himself out into the sunlight always felt like a struggle.

But it hadn't felt like an effort, really -- to hold Evan's hand under the judgemental gaze of ten cousins and four aunts and uncles, to stand tall and stick to the barest edges of polite while the room erupted into chaos the moment his father opened his mouth to defend himself, to excuse himself and tuck his arm over Evan's shoulder on the way out the door.

He can still remember the dazed way Evan had responded to that first kiss, while Tommy busied himself tugging the hem of his shirt back down, too nervous to look at him while he asked him out. The way he'd looked, when Tommy'd been brave enough to glance up, eyes a little glazed, mouth still open, and told him he was free.

At the time, Tommy'd been furiously convincing himself not to lean in for another kiss, fully aware he'd make himself late to work if he allowed himself another taste, but the memory had lingered the rest of the shift. In the days after, once he'd had a clearer picture of exactly how wide he'd just blown open Evan's world, he'd thought of it often.

I am free.

Tommy turns his face to meet Evan's gaze, nose dragging across his cheek, lips aching to find a home against Evan's again, but he catches his eyes first, slides a hand up over Evan's arm, shoulder, neck, until he can curl his fingers over his jaw, thumb tucking in to the little dimple as Evan grins at him. "Thank you for coming."

Evan sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, tongue darting out to wet the top one, a mischievous gleam in his eye, but he lets the dumb joke go, gaze shifting into something more serious as he drums his fingers along Tommy's bare hip. "Thanks for letting me," Evan murmurs back, and Tommy knows they need to talk about that sentiment in more detail, but for now he'd rather roll Evan on top of him and slide his tongue past the seam of Evan's lips.

Evan doesn't seem to have any complaints.

[elderwisp]

◁ || ▷

Atlas: You’re coming, right?

Dan: Duh, I got people that want me there.

Atlas: I didn’t realize you were famous like that.

Dan: You would if you were around more.

Atlas: You're actually annoying!

Dan: Easy opening. Oye, I’m gonna try to invite Frances and Kai.

Atlas: So they can not show up again? Love that.

Dan: It was one time.

Atlas: A couple times actually. Look, do whatever you want, I’m not gonna hold my breath for them.

Dan: You’re such a brat.

Atlas: No me digas. Anyways gotta go, I need to work on this piece.

Dan: Fine, I’ll call you tomorrow.

Atlas: You don’t gotta do that.

Dan: It’s either that or I walk there since I don’t drive.

Atlas: PFFT. Loser.

Dan: Come mierda!

Atlas: Bye!

Ares: Need a ladder?

Atlas: Probably. Meh, I’ll stack a couple of boxes.

Ares: And break your back? 

Atlas: Sounds fun.

Ares: Atlas right?

Atlas: Mhm.

Ares: Wait, you were at that party the other night. Dan wanted to beat the shit outta you.

Atlas: Sounds about right. Good thing she didn’t.

Ares: Damn that looks sick.

Atlas: Thanks, man. 

Ares: How long does it usually take you to paint something like this?

Atlas: Too fucking long but it’s worth it. 

Ares: I bet, I could never use my imagination to create this much less have the patience to finish a painting. 

Atlas: I could have sworn you were in a band.

Ares: I am, why?

Atlas: Isn’t it similar? Especially when coming up with a song.  

Ares: To an extent, you have chords that you sequence together into a melody. However, most of these chords have been played time and time again so it can feel like I’m playing from memory.

Atlas: Well a memory can be a reference. In art, everything feels like the residuals of something nostalgic. Maybe the melody reminds you of a happier moment. I just don’t think you should sell yourself short.

Ares: If that’s the case, what does this piece remind you of?

Atlas: A better time. 

Ares: Are you alright now?

Atlas: As good as it gets. Anyways, do you know if the boba shop has a bathroom?

Ares: Yeah, but-

Atlas: I see why Dan likes you.

Ares: Likes me?

Atlas: Something like that. Catch you later.

[sanrielle]

Amazing fanart by Joanacchi! Posted here on tumblr with their blessing. Each one is based on a style that reflects a particular ancient culture's art history. (See below for descriptions provided by the artist!)

Store (buy these prints!) Twitter Instagram

Aang: Tibetan Thangka

"Thangkas are traditional Tibetan tapestries that have been used for religious and educational purposes since ancient times! The techniques applied can vary greatly, but they usually use silk or cotton fabrics to paint or embroider on. What you can depict in a Thangka is really versatile, and I wanted to represent things that make up Aang as a character."

Zuko and Azula: Japanese Ukiyo-e

"Ukiyo-e is a style that has been around Japan between the 17th and 19th century, and focused mainly in representing daily life, theater(kabuki), natural landscapes, and sometimes historical characters or legends!

Ukiyo-e was developed to be more of a fast and commercial type of art, so many drawings we see are actually woodblock prints, so the artist could do many copies of the same art!

I based my Zuko and Azula pieces on the work of Utagawa Kuniyoshi (1798-1861) one of the last ukiyo-e masters in Japan! He has a specific piece which featured a fire demon fighting a lord that fought back with lighting, and that really matched Zuko and Azula's main techniques!”

Toph: Chinese Portraiture from Ming and Qing Dynasties

"Ming Dynasty (1368-1644) was one of the longest in China! It was also a period where lots of artistic evolutions were happening, especially when it comes to use of colour! There was not a predilection for portraits during this time, but there are a lot of pieces depicting idealized women and goddesses from the standards of the time. For this portrait of Toph, I imagined something that maybe their parents commissioned, depicting a soft and delicate Toph which we know is not what she is about ♥️

Qing Dynasty (1644-1912) was the last Chinese Dynasty to reign before the Revolution. One of the most famous emperors of this period was Qianlong, and he really liked Western art! He commissioned a lot of portraits of his subordinates, and I chose a portrait of one of his bodyguards as a reference for the second Toph portrait, which I believe is much more like how she would want to be represented! The poem on top talks about the bodyguards' achievements during a specific war. I had no time to come up with a poem for Toph, so I just used the same one for the composition!”

Sokka and Katara: Inuit Lithograph

"For a long time, Inuit art expressed itself in utilitarian ways. The Nomadic lifestyle of early Inuit tribes played a huge part in that: most art pieces are carved in useful tools, clothing, or children's toys, small and easy to be transported, and depicted scenes and patterns representing their daily lives!

That changed a lot during the colonization. Since the settling of the Inuit tribes, many art pieces began to be created in order to be exported to foreigns, so they started to sculpt bigger and more decorative pieces.

Lithography, which is a type of printmaking, was introduced to Inuit people by James Houston, that learned the technique from the japanese. The art form was quickly embraced by the inuit, as part of the process is very similar to carving. Prints that are produced by inuit artists are still being sold today!

As lithography is not an old art style and it's still commercially relevant to the Inuit communities, since creating these in 2021 I have been donating regularly to the Inuit Art Foundation, not only all the money I get from selling some prints of these but a bit more, at least once a year. Hopefully, I can increase donations this year!”

[teddypines]

To Scotland, (the aftermath part 2)

-----------------------------------------------------------

Summary: The team made it to Scotland in one piece, getting the warmest welcome from the MacTavish family. It was time for healing, some fun and little outings.

Note: Soap's place of birth and his parents names are made up by me and my friend, because i couldn't find anything canon, so headcanon it is. Also part 3 will get more little outings and maybe more.

Art/picture is from Google, credits go to whoever made it

The aftermath part 1

--------------------------------------------------------------

Location: Scotland, Stirling, countryside near Drip Bridge. Soap’s parents home.

Date: November 4th 20XX

Soap’s mom, Fiona, walked down the porch as Johnny walked over to the house with some of the bag’s. “Johnny, sweetpea!” She yelled while opening her arms for a hug. “Hey, mom.” Johnny answered once he let go of the bag’s and was safely in his mothers arms. “Missed ya, Mom.”

John walked over to Johnny and his mother with the other bag’s while Simon and Y/N helped Kyle walk after them. “OWh and look at them, you sure picked them out didn’t ya.” Fiona marveled as she looked at the others. “You three sure are handsome and you dear are an angel.” Fiona complimented the other four. “Now come in, come in, you all are probably tired from your trip here and everything that happened before. I have tea and cake inside.” 

After Fiona got to hug and greet everyone and the bags were all inside and taken care of. Everyone gathered into the living room, Johnny quickly sat down in his usual spot before helping his mom with tea and the cake. Fiona made her famous apple pie for everyone, wanting them to feel welcome and loved.

Kyle was still a bit out of it, the pain meds were less heavy but his mind was still a bit foggy. He lay his head onto Y/N’s shoulder as he sat between her and John, nice and safe as the others talked over tea. Of course Soap’s dad, Callum, wanted to know everything about the mission, the escape and what happened at the safehouse. He didn’t get everything he wanted to know, but he got what the team was allowed to tell family and loved ones.

<-------------------------------------------------->

After tea and cake everyone took it easy. John took Kyle upstairs for a nap, because the poor man really needed one. Simon joined Kyle after about 45 minutes. He needed a nap too. Fiona went to work on dinner, wanting to make a feast for her son’s safe return home and to celebrate his loved ones. Y/N went with Johnny and his dad to check on the animals and John started helping Fiona after a while of letting Kate know everything was okay in Scotland.  

Of course Y/N adored the sheep the MacTavish family kept. They were all so fluffy and adorable, like little walking clouds. Johnny was lucky when he caught the moment of Y/N holding one of the younger sheep in her lap on camera. Saving it for a rainy day and sharing it with the boy’s in their private group chat. Callum only loved it that Johnny’s partner loved the sheep just as much as he and his family did.

Monty, the barn cat, got the same kind of attention from Y/N as the sheep did. But Monty got the privilege of going back inside with Johnny, Callum and Y/N, while the sheep had to stay inside the barn for the night. 

Dinner was nice and homey. It did bother Simon a bit and even John was struggling with this loving and warm feeling a parent could give. Fiona’s food was delicious as always and to her own delight there were no leftovers. Y/N helped Johnny with the dishes as the others went to do their own thing again until tea time.

<-------------------------------------------------->

The moment Johnny’s head hit his pillow something felt wrong. He was so used to having his loved ones in the same big bed as him when they were out of the field. Yet now he lay alone in his childhood bed, it just felt wrong. Even Though the others where in the two bedrooms across the hall, he missed them. Their warmth and closeness. Johnny was debating on going to one of the bedrooms to sleep there, but he was shaken out of his thoughts when his door opened. 

“Johnny?” Y/N whisper asked once she got closer to the bed. Johnny slowly nodded his head. “What is it, bonnie?” “I can’t sleep… Kyle moved to sleep with Simon and John and I feel so cold without one of you next to me.” Y/N answered. Johnny quickly opened the covers for Y/N and let her crawl into bed with him. They didn’t need words to understand what they both needed. And thus Johnny rubbed Y/N’s thigh as she hugged him. The two of them fell asleep like this, both not so cold and lonely anymore.

<--------------------------------------------------->

Location: Scotland, Stirling, countryside near Drip Bridge. Soap’s parents home.

Date: November 5th 20XX

Today was an easy chill day. The most everyone did was the necessary things, like taking care of Kyle and the animals. There was time to take it easy and to not worry about doing everything in a short time limit. It was nice, Johnny updated his journal. Simon was watching tv with Kyle and John was taking an old man nap with Callum. Y/N took the time to call her family. Telling them she is safe in Scotland and that Kyle and Simon are getting better by the day.

Later that day, around tea time Johnny was looking through the list of dvd’s. “Mom? Do you still have that one movie? You know the one used to love as a kid?” Johnny asked as he tried to find something to watch. “The one with the dog’s or the one with Hugh Jackman as a rat?” Fiona answered from the kitchen. “The one with the dog, but the scary one.” Johnny answered. This interaction confused John a bit, but he also loved it. He knew Johnny could communicate in a nonsensical way that made sense at the same time, but he never saw it happen like this. He saw it happen with Simon and Y/N, but that was different from this with Fiona.

“You mean the one with the penguin?” Callum asked Johnny as he looked back at his son. “What? No, it was a chicken right? Right?” Johnny asked, now even more confused than before. “It was a penguin, he just looked like a chicken because of the glove on his head and you are looking for 'Wallace and Gromit in the wrong trouser.'” Y/N answered, not even looking up from her phone. “And no, I did not just google this.”

Johnny slowly nodded his head. “Yeah.. That one.” He responded before searching for it in the dvd stand. “How? How do you know that is the film I was talking about?” Johnny asked after a long moment of silence. “I watched those too as a kid.” Y/N answered with a shrug. She shifted a bit, making Kyle groan. “Sorry, love.” Y/N whispered to Kyle. “Besides it’s a national treasure, not knowing Wallace and Gromit is like not knowing the queen. And not everyone on the team had a shittie childhood, Johnny. No offense Simon.” Simon just nodded. “None taken”

“Sooo… What is this I hear about Hugh Jackman as a rat?” Kyle asked as he shifted his head against Y/N’s thigh. Johnny turned red as Kyle asked him about the Hugh Jackman rat. Fiona could only smile as she walked into the living room with a tray and everything for tea and a movie on it. “Well, Kyle, Somewhere in the early years of Johnny’s life he watched an animated movie about sewer rats with the male lead being voiced by Hugh Jackman. My baby boy had to watch the movie every weekend and once he found out Hugh Jackman was in it he had to watch every movie with him in it. Some might say Johnny boy had a crush and a gay awakening.” Johnny whined in embracement. “Mom~ Stop! They don’t need to know about that” Johnny said only for everyone to laugh at his reaction. 

“I get it, Johnny boy. Mister Hughs Jacked Man is very nice to look at.” Y/N said as she started to run her hand through Kyle’s hair. “Yeah and he was totally hot in Australia, the movie not the country.” Kyle agreed. “And in X-Men.”

“Yeah, yeah I get it, just stop!” Johnny whined and hid his head in his hand. Fiona could only laugh. “Owh and don’t forget your little crush on that Legolas guy.”

“No! mom! Shush! Don’t tell them about that!”

“Legolas, hu?” John asked with a teasing smirk on his face. “He is a very handsome man, elf, okay?!” Johnny answered. “No no, you're right, Legolas is very handsome.” John reassured Johnny. “I really liked that Aragorn fella,” Simon commented to which Fiona nodded. “I agree with that, Aragorn is a good man.” 

And so the rest of the evening was spent talking about celebrity men, and women and the plants the team had for the next day. 

<--------------------------------------------------->

Location: Scotland, Stirling, Stirling castle.

Date: November 6th 20XX

Y/N had the little map and info brochure in hand as John paid for the tickets. It was like Y/N was the mom with how much she had to look up to make sure Johnny and Simon didn’t get into any trouble with the other people that were walking around the castle. Kyle looked over Y/N’s shoulder and smiled. “Can we go there after looking around the castle?” He asked as he pointed at a little café icon on the map. “Yeah, sure, wait… You really want to go to the Unicorn Café?” Y/N asked to which Kyle nodded. “Yes, besides it’s the only café they have here.”

Simon and Johnny gathered around Y/N and Kyle. “We are going into the little shop’s right?” Johnny asked. “Of course we are.” John answered as he came back with the tickets. “Now, one rule boy’s. Do not touch it if it doesn’t say you can touch it.” The boy’s nodded their heads and Y/N giggled. “So I can touch everything?” she asked with a cheeky smile on her face. “Oi, don’t get smart with me Princess.” John warned before taking Y/N’s hand and leading her to the castle like she was it’s queen.

[seven-meds]

Hi! Your meat works are very interesting. Is there a reason behind the meat presented in the form of pixels or it's a censure due to tumblr rules? I was very curious to know if there's any artistic choice behind it :) you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, of course! Either way, those works are very interesting visually speaking :) your art is incredible! 🖤 lots of kudos

Thank you! I don't think any platform has a rule against animal corpses… hunting, skinning, and butchering photos are easy to find most anywhere. Initially I was trying to solve the problem of "I hate rendering more than anything else in the world" and pixelating the painting makes it so I only have to block the colors out enough for the figure to be readable when abstracted. This is the previous image unblurred as an example:

As I've honed in through doing more pieces I've come to like how much they evoke censored crime scene photos and graphic news imagery. Censoring graphic imagery places us in a very detached but active role, we're primed to fill in the blanks with our imagination. Humans tend to be fascinated by the grotesque but most of us have an innate aversion to viewing a destroyed or lifeless body. The idea that retreating into one's mind and constructing a fantasy around traumatic imagery is considered more respectful than viewing that event outright is interesting to me. At the very least I would say it's more respectful to oneself.

I've been someone who's habitually sought out photos and videos of traumatic events. In case you're wondering if I had some sort of moral epiphany, there was no moment at which I consciously decided to no longer do this, I just slowly reached a point where I couldn't handle it anymore. In all the hundreds of photos and videos I've consumed the ones that have truly remained with me are not those where an injury or corpse was the main focus, it is those where the environment around it was particularly prevalent. The narrative I'm able to construct around the moments before the event is more enduring than the depiction of the event itself. And, if you consider the grim or disturbing images that are the most famous, the most widely shared, I think this is very common. By having the background in focus and the corpse of the animal obscured hopefully that desire to build a story is there for the viewer more so than if they were looking at a traditionally rendered painting.

[rendy-a]

Could I request a self aware twst au with like the first years :D?

I want to thank all the people who interacted with that post earlier today. It gave me enough motivation to go out and finish this piece.

While trying to think up concepts for this work, it occured to me that all the first years (except Ortho) were in sports clubs. That means there is one event perfect for you to bond with your first year friends.

Ace kicks a pile of canvas laying in a heap at his feet, “This is ridiculous!  What if something happens while we’re gone!”  His mouth twists into an unpleasant grimace.  He looks to his basketball club members for backup, but no one will meet his eye.  So, he turns to where he knows he’ll find support.  “Oi, Sebek!”  The green haired fae is distractedly pounding away at a tent stake nearby but it is easy to see from his expression that his heart isn’t in it.  “What happens if someone tries to kidnap the Player when we aren’t there to protect them?  You know how famous they are!”  Sebek stops hammering and slowly looks up, tears forming in his eyes. 

“SILVER! SILVER!” he shouts to his clubmate, “What if I’m not there to protect the Player!  Forget this event, we must return to the school with ALL HASTE!”  He looks to his fellows for support but again, none of the senior students stop what they are doing.  Ace, however, is fast to abandon his own camping site and join Sebek.  “Right, right?” he eagerly urges Sebek on, “What does this even matter if our Player isn’t here to see it?” 

“Stop it,” the sturdy voice of Jack growls, “It doesn’t pay to get worked up over it.  This is in the story, so we have to do it.  That’s just how it is.”  Sebek stares at the wolf beastman silently, tears falling from his eyes.  “Maybe we can tell them about it later!” Deuce tries to cheer his fellow freshman up, “I’m sure they’d like to hear about it.  They always listened to my card stories before…well before it happened.  I think they’d like to hear about this too!”  At that Sebek seemed mightily cheered and returned to setting up his tent with gusto, muttering about what he’d tell the Player about later.  Ace scoffs, sensing his defeat and returns bitterly to his own site. 

Epel wanders over and observes Ace silently.  “You finished?” Ace asks in surprise.  “Yeah, Leona is a great leader and took charge of getting us set up right away!” Epel informs him, “I had time to put up my tent and help Ruggie set up one for Leona too!”  Then he looks down and kicks Ace’s sad abandoned tent as well, “I just wish the Player was here to see it.  I bet they’d have been really impressed with how fast I finished.”  Ace frowns and complains, “But they aren’t here.  They are back at school with the Arts Clubs.”  This causes Epel to scowl deeply, “Dagnabit!  I didn’t need a reminder of that!  I can just picture those frou-frou artsy types trying to suck up to the Player.  Trying to get them to talk different, eat different, just…” He doesn’t finish the thought but the way he grinds his teeth shows how he feels about the idea.

The sound of pounding tent stakes and shifting canvas is diminished when the booming voice of Coach Vargas booms out, “Listen up, young campers!  Now, I know you don’t need any additional motivation to showcase your strength and fortitude here after I’ve done an AMAZING job setting up this EXCITING AND ENTERTAINING EVENT!”  Here he pauses and casts a quick look over his shoulder before straightening up again.  “But if you do!”  Then he smiles a beaming smile and sets his hands on his hips.  That’s when you pop out from behind him, “Hey guys!  Guess who’s here to do their memory keeper duties!” 

Ace jumps over his canvas pile in a rush to get to your side and stumbles over it.  “Woah, calm down,” you admonish him cheerily, “I’ll be here all weekend.”  Epel asks in an innocent sounding voice, “You will?  You really will?”  You pat the two boys on the shoulder and search out your other first year friends in the crowd.  Sebek is sobbing quietly in front of his tent and Deuce is waving excitedly from the distant track club area.  Jack gives you a small nod before turning back to his area as though he is unaffected by your appearance, but the cloud of dust kicked up by his wagging tail says otherwise. 

You turn toward Vargas and look expectantly.  He looks blankly back at you until you awkwardly say, “Go on.”  He looks at you a moment before clearing his throat, “Ah yes, yes.  Harumph!  Anyway, tents are up!  Get over here and listen up for your next task!”  Then he looks at you as though seeking your approval to hand out the task.  You shrug and then nod as though to say, ‘Sure, go for it.’  Vargas gives you a toothy smile and then proceeds to hand out a familiar sounding explanation about the tasks to be assigned to the clubs.  You wave lightly before heading back to the cabin to get your own things sorted out.  The eagerness of the students fades as fast as your departure.

“So…,” Deuce begins carefully, “We are going to try now?  Right?”  He looks at Ace for confirmation.  Jack snorts behind him, “I was always going to try.”  Then he makes a fist and puts on an eager smile, “I’m going to knock this challenge out so fast that the Player can’t help but notice me!”  Deuce turns away from Ace to join Jack instead.  The two Track Club members fire each other up over their plans to dominate the camp tasks and stand out to the Player.  Deuce quickly becomes so distracted by this that he forgets Ace entirely.  This is just the chance Ace has been waiting for to quietly slip away.

“So, Prefect,” Ace begins as he appears at your side.  You yelp and drop your backpack, catching it before it hits the ground and damages your precious ghost camera.  “Ace!” you shout, “What are you doing here?  This isn’t in the event!”  He looks at you quietly and you quickly backtrack, “I…I mean, shouldn’t you be with the Basketball Club doing…something?”  Ace smiles, happy to have avoided an awkward situation.  “Nah, I’m not going to mess around in the woods.  It’s a team effort, so as long as those other guys do the grunt work, I’ll be fine.”  You roll your eyes at his attitude.  “Plus, why would I want to be anywhere but with my best buddy, eh Prefect?” 

You consider this carefully before slyly narrowing your eyes and gesturing to your unbuilt tent.  “Sure, thing, Pal.  Why don’t you hang out and help me build my tent.”  Ace grimaces, not wanting to do the work but mostly afraid you’ll pick up on his lack of tent-building expertise.  The odd standoff is concluded when you hear Coach Vargus bellow, “Nonsense!  That won’t do for either of you!  I can hardly deprive the Prefect of the chance to enjoy this stimulating muscle-building activity and as for you Ace, well, you are just slacking off.”  Ace starts to stammer as you just stand there cringing.  Coach Vargus calmly approaches Ace and lifts him up by his collar.  It reminds you of how you lift a misbehaving Grim by the scruff of his neck.  You wave awkwardly at the departing Ace as he looks imploringly at you from the Coach’s grasp.  ‘Oh well, you reap what you sow,’ you think.

A tiring amount of time later, you brush your hands off on your thighs and declare, “There, done!”  Then you slowly head over to grab your pack holding the Ghost Camera, among other supplies.  The sun is barely at its peak, but you are already sweating with exertion from putting up the tent.  You wonder how your more athletic friends among the first-year students are handling it.  You know they are more used to the effort, but you hope they are taking necessary precautions.  Perhaps you’d just remind them and see if they need to borrow some sunscreen.

You know realize that sunscreen was the least of your safety concerns.  You watch in disbelief as Sebek continues to scale a sheer cliff in search of a lantern blossom flower.  The reaction of the nearby students was mixed.  Silver seemed remarkably unconcerned as he spoke to Riddle nearby.  Meanwhile, you and several NPC characters were more nervous.  “He is going to fall, isn’t he?” you ask the nearby Scarabia A.  He looks at you for a long moment and then shrugs his shoulders.  You are not reassured at all. 

You turn instead to Ignihyde C and gesture, “This game doesn’t have a mature rating, so he can’t die.  Right? Right?”  The surprised student looks at you with his mouth falling open before he stammers, “R.right.”  Then he looks up at the precarious position of the green haired fae and mumbles, “But maybe you should cheer him on anyway.”  You look more intently at the NPC and demand, “Do you think that would help?”  He answers you in a fluster, “W..well, if my oshi…I mean friend…if my friend cheered me on, I think it would really help me do my best!” 

Right.  That is just the sort of thing friends do.  “HEY SEBEK!” you shout.  The fae somehow hears you shout and looks arrogantly over his shoulder at the spectators but when his eye catches your form, he shakes, and you fear he will tumble from the cliff.  “HOLD ON SEBEK, YOU CAN DO IT!  I BELIEVE IN YOU!”  From even the great distance between you, the image of determination that crosses his expression can be seen.  He sets off with a renewed vigor, making daring transitions and finding ways to make speedy progress.  With several movements that make you gasp and hold your breath; he reaches the lantern blossom and plucks it from the ground. 

Much faster than the ascent, Sebek’s return to the ground was accomplished quite shortly.  He was still a considerable distance up when he leaps from the cliff edge to race to your side and show off his prize.  He eagerly holds out the glowing lantern blossom for you to view.  “Its so pretty,” you comment politely, “I wish I had one.”  He gasps and grabs hold of your hand, forcing the poor battered flower into it.  “THEN YOU MUST HAVE THIS ONE!”  You give him a shocked look, “No really, that is unnecessary.  I’ll get one some other day.”  He smiles at you smugly, “No need Prefect.  Any time you need a lantern blossom, I will fetch one for you.”  You guiltily hold out the flower to one student after another, but no member of the Horseback Riding Club will take it from you.  “Prefect,” Riddle finally says in a commanding voice, “Its rude to return a gift.  We are more than capable of retrieving another lantern blossom.”  Sebek and Silver nod in agreement, backing up the Dorm Leader.  You think it’s time to go before you cause this club any more trouble.  You make your excuses and dash off to the lake.

As you part a pair of branches and emerge from the forest at the lake’s edge, you catch sight of some members of the Spelldrive Club nearby.  Ruggie seems to be fishing up a storm while your first-year friend Epel watches from nearby with his own pole.  “See,” Ruggie tells his underclassman, “That’s how its done.  Now in return for that free lesson, how about you show me what you learned by catching enough fish for the rest of the club! Shishishi!”  You roll your eyes at the obvious attempt to foist the work off onto Epel but are surprised with your friend shouts “YES SIR!” with enthusiasm.  You catch Ruggie’s eye and give him a quiet tsk tsk which only earns you a mischievous wink before the hyena beastman set’s off toward camp.

You slowly saunter over to Epel, who is fully engaged in his fishing.  “So, got a plan?” you asked over his shoulder.  “Eh!?” he gasps and drops his pole, “Player!  I..I mean Prefect!  It’s you! Ya’ had me surprised outta my skin there!”  You give him an apologetic smile.  Epel stoops down to retrieve his pole and shyly replies, “My plan is just to catch the fish.  I’m not going to give up until I’ve caught at least a dozen!”  Then he holds up his arm and bends it at the elbow, giving you a little flex to show off his determination.  You hold in a laugh, “Well, if you are that fired up, why stop at only one dozen?” 

Epel’s eyes go wide for a moment and then he gets a maniacal grin.  “Yeah! You’re right!  I’m going to catch you at least two dozen fish!  Or maybe three or four!”  You know Epel is not the type to break his word, so you quickly interrupt to calm down his ambitions, “One dozen is enough!  I was just joking.”  You wave your hands toward the ground as though to say, let’s lower our expectations.  Epel frowns and mutters under his breath, “That isn’t going to impress anyone.” Then he looks at you determined, “Just wait and see!  I’ll catch plenty of fish so don’t go eat’n with any other club!  When tha fish are in tha bag, I’ll make ya Gram’s special fish stew!” 

As Epel gets to work, casting his line and reeling in the lure, you sit beside him on a rock.  When the time seems right, you snap a picture of him eagerly lifting a small fish from the lake on his line.  “There you go!  One down!” you say as you transfer the ghost camera to your elbow and give him a small clap of encouragement.  He preens a short second before frowning down at the small fish.  “Tha’ next ‘un will be twice as big!” he shouts in determination before casting his line again. 

True to his prediction, soon Epel gets a tremendous tug on his pole.  You both shout and leap to your feet at the strength of the fish that appears to be on the line.  “WOAH!” Epel shouts.  You lean over the edge of the lake, trying to see the monster fish Epel has snagged.  Epel too seems interested in his opponent and plans one foot firmly while leaning forward to stare intently where his line entered the lake.  With a sudden flash, a scaled hand emerges from the lake to grab the tip of Epel’s rod and tugs Epel, pole and all, into the lake.  You quickly slide back as far more of Floyd emerges from the lake.  He gives you a toothy smile before his trademark laugh emerges and he returns to the lake.  Epel does not immediately surface, and you are concerned for a moment before you spot him further down the shore.  Though he has concealed himself behind a log, you can tell his ears are flushed with embarrassment.  You kindly decide to give him his space.

Halfway to camp, your stomach begins to growl.  You thought sadly about Gran’s special fish stew, now beyond your reach.  You hoped that you’d manage to sweet talk some fish off someone.  They were your friends, so someone is bound to share, right? 

The size of Deuce’s eyes when you asked him sweetly if he’d share his food with you rivaled that of the empty plate you held out to him.  “Please?” you finish your plea for lunch.  Deuce flushes and quickly removes his pack from his shoulder, pulling out a fairly large fish.  “No problem, Prefect, I’ve got enough for two here!”  You make a little gesture to celebrate your victory and compliment him, “Yeah!  Great job catching such a big fish.  It looks so huge, I bet its even enough for three people!”  Immediately Deuce denies this, “NO!  NO, IT’S NOT!”  When you pull back in surprise, Deuce continues in a softer voice, “I…I mean this one is just perfect for two.  It…its just meant for us.  To share.  Together.” 

You hold up your hands and agree, “Sure, sure.  Just you and me.  I get you.”  Deuce seems so very pleased by your response that you decide to just let his strange response slide.  Plus, you need him to cook that fish.  “So…what are you making?  You know, just for us to share?” you ask as you saddle up to his side?  Deuce looks back and forth between you and the fish, “I sure know how to cook this.  Yup, I really do.”  Your mouth falls into a little O and then you glare at him suspiciously, “Deuce, do you know how to cook fish?”  He doesn’t meet your eye but assures you that Trey taught him some recipes.  You still have your suspicious but figure if it was a Trey recipe, it would be alright.

“So, what do we do?” you ask Deuce.  He looks at you with a dreamy expression, “We?  You’re going to cook with me?”  You shrug your shoulders, “I mean yeah, that’s how Trey’s recipes are, right?”  Then you lean in close and whisper, “Like…Like in the game when we made that chestnut tart together.  Right?”  Deuce quickly agrees, “Right!  Together!  You and me!  Just…you and me… Ahem!”  He finishes with a cough and then, to your relief, sends you to the forest to collect some herbs. 

You had a handful of samples and a general area to search for more.  Apparently, Jack had scented some out while setting up camp and taken cuttings so his clubmates could retrieve more later.  You smiled at the foresight of the first-year student.  You weren’t sure exactly what Deuce needed, so you gathered a few handfuls of each type.  You walk back to the camp and set your bounty on the table next to the fish Deuce has prepared.  It looks like he’s used the time you were away to fillet the fish and make a simple dough.  Seeing the dough gives you confidence that this really is a Trey recipe. 

“So, what now?” you ask him.  “Chop up the herbs and mix them into a paste with water,” Deuce directs.  “Sure,” you say while gesturing to the pile, “but which ones?”  Deuce pauses and looks at the large pile of greens you have sitting there.  “Oh…um…All of them!”  Now your doubts are back.  “Are you sure about that?” you ask him carefully.  “Yeah!” Deuce replies confidently, “Just like Trey says, the more the merrier!”  You carefully take two sprigs of herbs and chop them up and then, while Deuce is preoccupied with the dough, give them a taste.  Honestly, the combination of the two isn’t bad.  ‘Well,’ you think, ‘what to I know about cooking in a magical world anyway?’  So, you chop the entire pile of greens and mix it all into a thick paste.  Deuce combines your herb paste with the fish and puts it into a small pie shell he has formed with the dough.  Then, you pack the ‘pie’ into the hot rocks of the fire to roast. 

While the pie bakes, you sit side by side on a log and chat about normal things.  Or maybe it was more like you chatted and Deuce listened.  You didn’t mind, he was good company even if he seemed preoccupied.  You were telling him about Grim’s latest antics when you felt something on your hand.  You give a small yelp and tug your hand into your lap.  “Ah!” you examine your hand as you brush it off, “Was that a bug?”  Deuce, who you suddenly realize had gotten far closer to you than you’d noticed, nervously remarked, “Oh yeah, that…was probably it.  Ha ha.”  Finally, you ask, “Are you cold?  I bet we could find you a seat closer to the fire if you are.  You can be as cozy as our pie.”  Deuce seems embarrassed for a moment before suddenly becoming alarmed, “THE PIE!”  He jumps up and fishes the pie from the fire. 

He brings it to you nervously, “I think it is fine…”  The pie has a small amount of char around the edge that was directly in the fire.  If it hadn’t been made by your good friend, you’d probably have refused it but, since it was made by Deuce, you don’t have the heart to refuse.  “Oh yeah, looks fine.  I guess…lets try it?” you say trying to convince both yourself and Deuce of the pie’s editability.  Deuce lets out a happy sigh and breaks the pie in half, handing you the slice with fewer burnt edges.  He makes no move to eat the pie himself but seems to hold his breath, waiting for you to try it.  “Well, here it goes?” you say in a worried tone.  You take a bite; it’s terrible.  You force your mouth into a wide smile, “mmm…” you mutter for him in pity.  You decide to use the same method for the pie as you used the last time you were forced to eat Lilia’s cooking.  You cram the pie down in three huge bites, trying to finish it off while tasting it as little as possible. 

For a moment, Deuce seems greatly pleased with the gusto in which you eat before the look of alarm sets on his face and he tilts his head to the side.  Or maybe he is tilting his whole body?  Oh, no.  It’s you that is falling.  Then the blackness takes you as Deuce’s frightened shouts fade out, “HELP, I think…I’ve poisoned…the player…”

You wake up groggy.  If that was all, you’d have considered yourself lucky, but it also appears you’ve been tied to a tree.  You are confused for a moment until you recall the storyline of the Camp Vargus event.  Right, Coach is probably out tormenting students right now while anyone captured is tied up.  Great, just great.  You look up when you hear a long howl echoing through the forest.  ‘Is that Jack?’ you think to yourself.  If Jack is already in his wolf form, then this camp is nearly over.  You sigh and lean back into the tree, waiting for someone to come along and release you.

It isn’t longer than an hour before a very tired but eager Jack arrives to untie you.  “Guess you are the hero of the day, huh?” you jibe at him.  He flushes as he rubs the back of his head, “Oh, you heard about that.”  He tries to pretend indifference but moments later he is asking for more details, “So what did you hear?”  Well, this is a challenge to answer since you hadn’t actually heard anything about it.  You just remembered it from when it was a game plot.  “Well…didn’t Floyd change into his mer form?  That was probably cool to see.” 

A look of incredulousness passes over his face, “Yeah well, other guys probably looked cool too.”  You nod knowingly, “Yeah, I heard you got to Sebek use his training to lure the monster into the bog.  Who knew there would be a chance for him to show off his skills out here.”  Jack huffs, “Yeah but he wasn’t the only one using his skills out there.”  Now you smile, feeling a bit mischievous yourself, “Oh, for sure.  I mean what would we have done without our MVP from Savanahclaw.”  Jack lets out a relieved sigh and smiles.  “Yes, Ruggie sure did pull though.  I don’t normally approve of his sneaky habits, but you have to admit he really came through today.” 

Jack’s eyes widen and he stands there in a silent shock.  “Well, let’s get going.  Are you hungry?  I could sure go for something right about now.”  Then you dust off your knees and start heading toward camp.  After a moment, you decide you’ve tortured him enough and pause, waiving your hand to signal him to join you.  When he reaches your side, you give his uniform sleeve a tug.  He bends down and you use this opportunity to give him a pat on the head and then rub his soft ears.  “You did good, Jack,” you praise him softly.  Then you thread your arm through his own and tug him along to camp.  “Now, let’s go get some grub.  Just don’t take anything Deuce gives you, ok?”  Jack smiles and follows you along, tail wagging all the way.